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Chapter Text

First name: (your name)

Last name: Yugiri (meaning twilight fog)

Note: This surname is provided for ease of user reading experience, and because names are significant to my story.)

Breathing technique: Shadow breathing, derived from moon breathing. It has eight forms.
• First form: Infinite void
• Second form: Sea of darkness
• Third form: Pitch black
• Fourth form: Dead of night
• Fifth form: Crouching panther
• Sixth form: Black mountain mist
• Seventh form: Endless abyss
• Eighth form: Nocturnal dance

Marechi?: No, your blood type is not rare

Final note: For ease of reading for English language, full names will be written out as: first name, last name.

p.s. the breathing styles in this fanfic are considered “powers” or “magic”, yes ik what Gotouge said, and while I always try my best to keep my reader inserts as close to canon as possible, this is one thing I have decided to change. Thanks for understanding!

Chapter Text

"Wake up..."

The words fell calmly at first, echoing across the Ubuyashiki estate.

The young boy's sullen figure lay motionless on the courtyard dirt, arms bound tightly behind his back. His hair was dissheveled, mouth split open, and his checkered haori was tattered to ribbons, its edges stained with blood and dust. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was as good as dead.

You watched as the kakushi yelled at the boy's unconscious body, his hands balled into fists as he kneeled down, "Are you gonna sleep the whole dang day? ," he barked, "Just wake the hell up, will ya?!"

The boy gasped, back arching as if he'd just woken from a nightmare. His eyes flew open like he'd only now just remembered how to breathe.

"You're in the presence of the Hashira! Show some respect!" Shouted the Kakushi.

The boy flinched, still on his stomach, eyes darting wildly around the courtyard.

He was surrounded.

You stood at the edge of the semicircle of Hashira, expression unreadable. His eyes landed on you first, staring for just a second longer than with the others. Perhaps it was the serenity in your gaze, or the composure your presence carried in contrast to the chaos surrounding him.

To your right, Kocho spoke to the boy first, voice deceptively bubbly, "before we begin the trial, why don't you go ahead and explain the crime you've comm—"

"There's no need for a trial!"

All heads turned.

"Protecting a demon is a clear violation of the code!" Rengoku's voice was unmistakable as it boomed throughout the courtyard, "we're within our rights to deal with him on our own, both the demon and the boy will be beheaded!"

"In that case, I'll gladly execute them with style," rang out Uzui, clutching the blades on his back.

You inwardly roll your eyes at his theatrics.

Beside him, Kanroji offered a concerned glance at the trembling boy, her fingers curled near her lips.

Himejima's guttural voice rumbled behind you, "what a pitiful soul this boy is..."

Tokito didn't even glance downward. His gaze was lost in the sky, brows drawn together as though trying to remember if that cloud was a cumulus or something else entirely.

It seemed the boy on the ground could hardly focus, his eyes scanning the courtyard in a frenzy like a caged animal searching for an escape.

"The Hashira are speaking, what are you looking at?" Snapped the kakushi, "these are the ten highest ranking swordsman in the Demon Slayer Corps..."

"Hashira...?" the boy repeated, as if committing the word to memory would somehow anchor him.

"Let's put him out of his misery," said one.

"Yes, right away," said another.

You tuned out their banter. With a tilted head, you waited, not yet intervening. The boy could still hardly keep focus, squirming about as he shouted for names you didn't recognize.

Iguro spoke from above, sitting perched on a nearby tree, snake coiled around his neck like a second set of eyes.

"Forget the kid," he hissed, "Based on what Kocho told us, I'm more concerned about what we will do with Tomioka. It boils my blood just seeing him unrestrained. Don't you have anything to say, Tomioka?"

Your gaze followed his pale, outstretched finger to Giyuu, who stood still as a statue a few feet away from the semicircle, face shadowed beneath his bangs, silent and detached.

Damn that deadpan expression of his.

You knew better than most how much he internalized. How much he carried on his shoulders without saying a word. You wondered what he had been thinking all this time behind that mask.

You tried to deter the attention from Giyuu, your voice slicing through the tension, "We can come up with a punishment later, I'm more interested in hearing this boy's story, and why he has a demon in tow despite being a Demon Slayer."

A few heads nodded in agreement, shifting their focus to the boy on the ground. He struggled to speak, coughing violently until you approached. You pulled a water jug from beneath your crescent-patterned haori and knelt just enough to offer it to him.

"Tanjiro Kamado, that's your name right?"

He took one last gulp, nodding.

"Try not to hurt yourself more. Calmly explain your situation."

Kamado's eyes met yours, his expression somewhere between defiance and desperation. He steadied himself with a deep breath, quickly defending his actions, arguing that his demon sister would never harm a human.

Storms of protest rose from the others, claiming it was all blasphemous, some suggesting he must be possessed.

"excuse me, but there's no way the Master isn't aware of all this. There has to be something we're not seeing."

You nodded along with a few others as Kanroji's voice of reason sliced through the uproar.

The accusations hushed while a flash of unease washed over the group, the quiet filled only by the sound of humming cicadas.

And then—

Crunch.

Gravel shifted under heavy footsteps. You had felt it before you saw him, a familiar shift in the wind that followed his presence.

Sanemi Shinazugawa.

He strolled into the courtyard, a large wooden box slung across his shoulders like it weighed nothing. It was the only time Giyuu moved. The others hadn't noticed, but you caught it—his clenched jaw, the strain in his fist. He didn’t say a word, but his glacier blue gaze found the wind pillar instantly.

Shinazugawa grinned wide.

"Well, well." He drawled, "Looks like we have something interesting brewing here..."

He dropped the wooden box out like a hunter presenting fresh kill as another kakushi chased after him, "Lord Shinazugawa, please! You shouldn't be touching that!" She pleaded.

Your stomach twisted as you turned towards him, the presses of your mouth drawn together.

Kanroji leaned forward slightly, whispering under her breath, "Yugiri looks pretty angry, how unsual..."

"Shinazugawa" you began, your voice tight in your throat, "don't do anything brash."

He didn't even glance your way as he stepped past you.

"You're really as stupid as you look," Shinazugawa spat, "a demon that can never harm a human? Do you know what we call that?"

You watched with a sharp glare as he held up his nichirin sword to the box.

"completely impossible, you idiot!"

He jammed the blade clean through the wood, drawing out a muffled cry from inside, blood painting his sword red and splattering across the gravel.

The Kamado boy jumped to his feet, teeth bared wildly, "I will never forgive anyone who hurts my sister! I don't care if you're a Hashira!"

"Tanjiro!" Giyuu called from across the courtyard, "get ahold of yourself, the Master will arrive soon."

But the boy had already launched forward.

Sanemi's katana sliced through the wind, its sharp edge whistling through empty space. Kamado was in the air faster than you could blink. With a sharp cry, he slammed his forehead straight into Sanemi's skull.

CRACK.

A stunned silence overtook the courtyard. Even the cicadas had stilled.

Kanroji raised her hands over her face, shoulders shaking. "Forgive me," she murmured, stifling a laugh.

Your own fingers hovered near your mouth—partly to mask your surprise, partly to stifle the snort threatening to escape.

Satisfying didn't even begin to cover it.

Sanemi was now sprawled in the dirt, twitching with rage. His sword clattered beside him. Tomioka's statement must have offered an ample distraction, but still, the kid managed to land a blow on one of the strongest among you.

"If you can't tell the difference between good souls and bad ones, you shouldn't even be a Hashira at all!" Tanjiro shouted as he stood tall.

"You bastard," Sanemi growled as he reached for his sword, pushing himself back up on his feet, "I'll kill you."

Shinazugawa's blade threatened the boy's neck, and just as you are about to intervene...

"The Master has arrived," intoned the Ubuyashiki twins in perfect unison behind you, their angelic voices casting an immediate hush over the courtyard.

Chapter Text

The courtyard stilled.

The trees steadied their leaves.

Even the walls of the Ubuyashiki manor had held its breath in the presence of the Master.

Your knees had touched the gravel in an instant.

The world was silent, save for the echoes of the Master's footsteps as he neared the garden. The twins were at his side, guiding his path, the light shuffle of their feet filling the quiet. At the edge of the porch, he tilted his nose skyward, breeze gently caressing his ebony black hair.

"Good morning, everyone. It is strikingly beautiful today. It pleases me that we've all made it to our semiannual Hashira Meeting with no personnel changes."

Shinazugawa's hand flew to Kamado's hair, jamming his face down to the gravel. The boy glanced to his left under Sanemi's hold, eyes following along the row of kneeled Hashira, heads lowered before the Master. Even Giyuu had moved from his designated position, joining in to your left.

At the opposite end of the line, Sanemi spoke with a reverent tone that contradicted his earlier fit of rage, "I am pleased to see you are in good health as well, Master. I fervently pray for your continued fortune."

You want to gag at his shift in demeanor.

Moments ago, he had seemingly lost all control, blinded by a kind of fury that should only be reserved for the battlefield. But now, in front of Master Ubuyashiki, he had flipped from rabid mutt to the polished obedience of a boot licking retriever.

"Thank you, Sanemi," replied the Master.

Shinazugawa continued for the rest of the group, "If I may... before we start the Hashira meeting, would you mind enlightening us about this swordsman traveling with a demon?"

"Right..." began Master Ubuyashiki, "I apologize for alarming you all."

Your gaze stayed fixed on the Master's fragile form. His eyes softened to a gentle glow, his smile steady as he asked not for forgiveness, not for understanding, but for acceptance of the boy's situation.

Tanjiro Kamado. A boy traveling with his demon sister and risking everything to prove her humanity. It was an impossible request, yet Master Ubuyashiki had made it anyway.

To your right, you could feel the storm of reactions brewing from the others. Sanemi grimaced. Himejima, Uzui, and Rengoku were quick to protest, and Kocho's knuckles whitened around the fabric of her haori. Kanroji beamed with loyalty, Iguro's gaze remained fixed on the wooden box, and Tokito blinked, as if only just now returning to reality.

But you remained motionless. Your lips parted only when your lack of reaction had dragged on long enough that even Shinazugawa had shot you a glance.

"No demon has taken away from me what they have taken from others," you began at last, "but I have held comrades—friends—as they bled out in my arms. I retrieved swords and delivered what was left of their bodies back to their families. I watched as their loved ones sat in denial, and as much as I wanted to indulge in my own grief... I pushed it aside to become their rock."

A pause.

"And yet... if you believe it is worth our attention to consider the possibility of a miracle, then I will abide by your request, Master," You lowered your gaze a fraction as you finished speaking.

Master Ubuyashiki's smile deepened at your answer, as if he'd expected no less from you.

Shinazugawa muttered something under his breath, too quiet for you to catch. Giyuu flicked his gaze to you, and though he wore his usual blank expression, his arms loosened at his sides. You knew what it meant without him having to say it; thank you.

Sanemi's voice cut through the moment, effectively killing it, "I disagree Master, I respectfully request that you punish both Kamado and Tomioka."

Ubuyashiki's expression never faltered. He merely turned to one of his daughters and whispered softly. The twin on his right stepped forward, removing a folded paper from her kimono.

She began to read.

The letter was from the former Hashira, Sakonji Urokodaki. It explained that Nezuko had retained her human reasoning, refusing to eat people, and has remained true for over two years.

Your eyes expanded at the information.

"...Should Nezuko ever attack a human, I, Sakonji Urokodaki, Tanjiro Kamado, as well as Giyuu Tomioka will atone by slicing open our stomachs."

The crisp sound of folding paper made the silence feel louder as the girl tucked the letter back in place.

You blinked once, slowly. Your gaze shifted to the Water Pillar's form. Still as ever, his eyes remained fixed on the stones before him. Across the courtyard, Kamado sucked in a breath, eyes glistening as they locked onto Giyuu.

Then—

A growl rose from Shinazugawa, "So what if they agree to commit seppuku? That doesn't reverse the fact that an innocent life could be taken away!"

"You do have a point," replied the Master with a tilt of his head, "However, it has already been proven. Nezuko will not attack humans. If you still wish to argue that she will... you must prove it."

You each mulled over his statement, a grunt of acknowledgement rumbling from a few. Then the Master raised his voice slightly, drawing everyone's attention.

"There is something else I must share, my children... Tanjiro has crossed paths with Muzan Kibutsuji."

The shift in the atmosphere was immediate.

Your brows raise at this, lips parting. Kanroji fell forward with a startled yelp, face planting into the gravel. Rengoku's eyes were ablaze as he interrogated the boy with questions, and Tokito spoke for the first time since the trial commenced.

Shinazugawa was waving Tanjiro's head back and forth by his hair, shouting, "did you find his lair? Huh? Answer me!"

Master Ubuyashiki need not speak. He simply lifted a finger over his lips.

And the courtyard fell silent again.

"I believe something is happening to Nezuko. Something Muzan never anticipated," Ubuyashiki said, "He is afraid. And now that he's shown his tail, I do not intend to let it slip away. Do you understand now?"

You understood all too well the Master's sentiment, the clarity in his voice was more unsettling than any demon.

However, one Hashira could not accept his decision.

Shinazugawa countered. No surprise there.

"I do not understand, Master. Not after everything we've lost..."

For an instant, Sanemi's lavender eyes meet yours, but it's gone as soon as you catch it, leaving you to wonder if it even happened at all.

"Not after what we have endured in battle... it's unacceptable!"

Shinazugawa drew his sword, positioning it against his forearm. Gasps erupted as he sliced his skin open. You had even flinched a little, your lashes twitching as you watched his blood spill onto the garden stones.

"Master, please forgive this discourtesy," Sanemi flew behind the Ubuyashiki family into the shade of the porch, the wooden box tumbling onto its raised floor with a thud. Shinazugawa wedged his sword into the latch and wrenched it open.

Nezuko emerged.

Instinctively, your hand found the hilt of your blade, fingers brushing the crescent moon shape of your sword guard, and as your eyes flicked to the other Hashira, you realized they had all done the same. Somewhere in between, Tanjiro had escaped the Snake Pillar’s restraint, his figure standing at the base of the porch, arms trembling as he watched helplessly. Giyuu broke from formation, gripping Iguro's hand in a tight lock, halting any further intervention from him.

But something occurred just then that you have never seen in all your years of demon slaying.

Nezuko turned away in disgust, refusing to attack Sanemi, even after stabbing her multiple times and flaunting his bloody arm in her face.

After a brief explanation from one of his daughters, The Master's voice returned, quiet but commanding, "So, it is proven. Nezuko will not attack a human."

Sanemi's shoulders sank. His sword lowered. His eyes widened as if something in him had cracked, just slightly.

"What do you think you're doing, Tomioka?" Iguro hissed, yanking his hand free from Giyuu's grip.

the Master let on, regaining your attention, "Tanjiro, you must prove starting now that you and Nezuko can fight as demon slayers. Go forward and defeat a Twelve Kizuki, then your words will hold more weight."

Tanjiro's head was now lowered in a deep bow as he absorbed the Master's words, "Nezuko and I will defeat Muzan," he declared boldly, "and put an end to his reign!"

You exchanged a glance with the other Hashira.

"Why don't we start by defeating a twelve kizuki first, alright?" the Master suggested, a chuckle almost breaking through.

Tanjiro's face flushed red as Kocho and Kanroji hid a laugh behind her hands.

"The Hashira are extraordinary swordsmen. Through relentless training, they have defied death and overcome the Twelve Kizuki. That is why they are respected. Remember this, Tanjiro... and choose your words carefully." Master Ubuyashiki added.

Then, he turned his head slightly.

"Obanai. Sanemi. Please refrain from tormenting the younger ones."

Both pillars dipped their heads.

Sanemi's sword clacked softly against the floorboards as he bowed, "Yes, Master."

Kocho's voice sang through the tension with a light smile, "In that case, please allow Tanjiro and Nezuko to remain at my estate."

With a clap of her hands, the Kakushi arrived. They swiftly moved in, escorting Tanjiro and the wooden box out of the courtyard, their quiet efficiency restoring order.

And with that, the Master turned back toward your semicircle.

"Now then, my children. Shall we begin our meeting?"

~

The area was dark, save for the faint glow of the lanterns that stood at the center of the room. Their light cast long silhouettes across the tatami floor, dancing faintly over the haori of each seated Hashira. Close behind the lanterns, the Master sat before each of you with his usual serene expression, flanked by his silent daughters.

"Just as you've all reported, the carnage of demons has increased now more than ever, meaning the threat to human life is also in much more danger. We should bolster the ranks of the Demon Slayer Corps. What do you all think?" He paused, letting his smile linger despite the grim topic.

Sanemi, naturally, was the first to voice his opinion, "The Demon Slayers have grown soft. The incident at Mount Natagumo has shown that. You'd think that their trainers would have enough reasoning to weed out incompetence."

You didn't let that statement settle in the air, "That boy today seemed pretty competent to me," you casually mention, not bothering to look his way.

Sanemi's gaze darted to you, glaring daggers, but before he could string together an insult, Uzui let out a low chuckle.

"Yeah, he even landed a pretty stylish headbutt on you Sanemi. He's got potential."

The Wind pillar growled in place, shifting his posture as he scowled. You fought with the tiniest curl of amusement at your lips, but it never surfaced.

Kocho simply changed the direction of the conversation, "The more the population grows. The harder it is to unify the people."

"Agreed," the Master replied calmly, "But the fact that the lower five were as bold as they were probably means Muzan is nowhere near Mount Natagumo. Whenever he wishes to hide something, he creates a diversion to throw us off. Nevertheless, demons are out there freely devouring humans."

Master Ubuyashiki let his word linger in the air, the full weight of that truth settling over each of you.

Then—his voice came again,

"I believe I've assembled the best unit of Hashira since the first breathing swordsman of the Feudal Era. My children..."

You knew he was blind, but in that moment, you could swear you felt his gaze sweep over each of you, memorizing your faces.

" I look forward to your success."

Chapter Text

Two years ago—early spring, shortly after your initiation ceremony.

You still remember the day you took your brother’s place as the Shadow Pillar. The meeting had dispersed with its usual storm of personalities. Kocho had eagerly congratulated you, having just become a pillar herself. Uzui’s praise came with a hearty slap on the back, his strength slightly more exuberant than necessary. Himejima offered a gentle bow, while Sanemi let out a grunt of acknowledgment.

Kanroji still had yet to earn her title…

But it wasn’t their words that had been the most memorable.

It was Tomioka’s

Perched on your right shoulder, Yoruha, your owl, sat in perfect stillness. You stroked his feathers, dark and sleek as his white face blinked lazily at you.

“I know…” you murmured, “I’m not leaving yet.”

“I never got to congratulate you,” came a sudden voice from behind.

You turned just enough to see Tomioka approach you, hands tucked in the sleeves of his haori. He stopped a short distance away, his gaze flicking briefly to Yoruha before meeting yours.

“Right…thank you,” you bow, your hands folding tightly in in your lap.

He nodded briefly, “you’re not going back?”

“Not yet,” you reply, finger lightly brushing your owl’s chest, “I prefer to travel at dusk.”

He said nothing for a time, seemingly engrossed in a staring contest with the bird at your side.

“An owl for a messenger,” he said finally, “that’s unusual.”

Yoruha hooted, almost too faint for him to pick up on, “The shinobi of the shadow estate have used owls for centuries,” you explain, “They’re silent flyers, unlike crows.”

“I’ve always wondered about them. Never got the chance to ask.”

You arched your brow, “I never took you for the curious type.”

He gave no defense, gaze fixed ahead on the snowcapped mountains in the far distance, “I’m usually not…” he admitted.

“I can tell,” you state quietly, turning to walk the bridge over the koi pond.

Yoruha adjusted his talons as you moved, maintaining perfect balance on your shoulder. Giyuu followed without a word, the breeze rippling through his haori.

“You never said much as a Tsuguko,” he murmured beside you.

Your stopped in your tracks, gaze raising a fraction as you did so. Tomioka had stopped with you, searching your face for a hint that maybe he’d overstepped, but you gave him none.

“I was forbidden,” you say at last, “my brother said making friends was a perfect storm for letting your emotions overpower you on the battlefield, and will get others killed. It’s selfish.”

The hum of crickets filled the silence for a moment.

“Your brother is stupid,” Giyuu stated finally.

You blinked, slowly turning your head with widened eyes.

And then—before you could stop it—a small, breathless giggle escaped you.

Giyuu’s lips twitched, just barely.

It had been so long since you let yourself feel that lightness in your chest.

And for the first time ever, you weren’t afraid to show it.

~

The Hashira meeting had ended over an hour ago, yet you remained beneath the old Kuromatsu tree in the inner courtyard, arms loosely crossed as your eyes traced the shifting patterns of clouds overhead.

“You always used to sit here after you graduated from Tsuguko,” came a quiet voice.

You turned slightly as Giyuu approached, his steps light against the grass.

“I like the quiet,” you replied, offering him the faintest smile—one only someone like him would notice.

“I know.”

He leaned against the trunk, uninvited yet entirely welcome. For a while, neither of you spoke. The leaves above rustled in the breeze, and from somewhere in the estate, a wind chime sang softly, delicate and distant.

“Thank you,” he said at last, voice barely above a murmur.

You tilted your head, searching his face.

“For what you did. Accepting Tanjiro’s situation.”

You studied him for a time, then nodded once, gaze returning to the sky, “I trust your judgement, you know that.”

There was something gentle in the quiet that followed after; it didn’t ask to be filled—it simply was enough just to be.

~

There is no room for debate—the Wind Pillar is a force to be reckoned with.

His very presence radiates defiance; broad shoulders, marching stride, Scars etched onto every visible inch of his skin—jagged and countless. He wore them like war medals, a bold declaration that one has conquered battles with the marks to prove it.

And then there was you.

The Shadow Pillar.

A startling contrast to his brazen disposition.

He’d watched you carve down demon after demon, hour after hour, without so much as a crack in your persona—your eyes damn near void of life. You moved through this existence with such eerie calm, it was as though your humanity had been stripped away long ago.

And maybe it had.

But then again, maybe it was your dedication to your craft that left little room for complexities of the heart. Or maybe, just maybe, you were simply too good at hiding yourself.

Whatever it was, it bewildered Sanemi to no end.

But perhaps the most annoying thing about you was that you were friends with Giyuu Tomioka.

That damn mop head has been practically glued to your side ever since the day you first became a Hashira. Sanemi couldn’t stand the way he always acted like nothing ever bothered him, wearing that fake blank expression; like he was better than everyone else. You were the same, maybe worse.

And now, as he marched into the courtyard, his eyes fell upon you… and Giyuu.

“Didn’t think you still sat around after meetings.”

Shinazugawa’s voice came quieter than usual, his lavender eyes simmering with intensity as they locked onto you. You and Giyuu glanced up, seemingly just now registering his presence.

“I could say the same about you,” you quipped.

He grunted, sharp and impatient, “Well i’m certainly not sticking around for the company.”

“Then why are you here?”

That earned a scoff, “Maybe I’m waiting for someone to finally admit they were wrong back there.”

You tilted your head in a way that made Sanemi’s heart twist, “If you mean when you accused the new recruits of being dead weight, I won’t apologize for defending them.”

He stepped closer, “You saw what happened at Mount Natagumo. You know I’m right.”

A piercing silence stretched between you. You said nothing, your finger tapping rhythmically against your bicep, uncertain if this conversation was going anywhere at all.

Suddenly, a flurry of wings signaled the arrival of a Kasugai crow. It circled above your group before descending in a noisy spiral, landing on a nearby post with urgency.

“Sanemi Shinazugawa!” it squawked, loud and unapologetic, “Here are your orders! Make your way to a town southeast—women and children have been vanishing!”

Shinazugawa’s eye twitched.

The silence returned, thicker than before. Even the crow seemed to falter, its head rotating as if trying to read the room.

Before anyone could speak, another burst of wings flapped overhead. Giyuu’s crow careened into the courtyard, landing with an ungraceful thud beside the first.

“wha-what he said,” the crow wheezed, feathers puffing, “I apologize, I’m not as young as I used to be,” Kanzaburo admitted, shrinking beneath his wings.

Before anyone could react further, there was a faint displacement of air, shifting everyone’s attention back to the open sky.

A dark figure descended soundlessly onto your shoulder, talons curling into the fabric of your haori with practiced grace. Its reflective black orbs surveyed the courtyard with unnerving calm.

Then, his beak dipped near your ear, “Northwest, forest edge, Twelve Kizuki—lower moon meeting. Do not intervene. Observe and report back.” each word was clear, yet barely above breath.

Sanemi scowled.

“Don’t tell me you’re still using that creepy thing.”

You didn’t answer him, didn’t need to.

Instead, your fingers lifted to brush Yoruha’s white cheek, “good boy, Yoruha,” you simply say.

The other crows hadn't moved, but their pupils shrank. At last, Giyuu's crow scooted closer to Sorai, his feathers bristling.

“Creepy…!” they say in unison.

Yoruha wordlessly took flight; vanishing into the shadows of the roofline without a single sound.

Sanemi clicked his teeth, “Tch. Figures that freak would match its master.”

You turned your head slowly, eyes meeting his with an unreadable expression. Not flinching, nor offended, just observing.

Sanemi hated it.

Hated that he couldn’t pin you down—couldn’t read you like a map and say with certainty if that stare was casting judgment or just your usual indifference.

“I suppose I should be on my way,” you said, eyes lifting to the afternoon sun,“it’ll be dark soon.”

Without another word you lifted off the tree, strolling around the corner. And just like that, you were gone; fading into the surroundings like a fleeting shadow from the corner of his eye.

Sanemi watched you slip away, staring for longer than he meant to. Meanwhile, Giyuu’s eyes burned into the back of his head.

Sanemi stiffened, whipping around to face Giyuu, with a snarl, “what the hell are you looking at?”

There was one key difference that separated Giyuu from you, according to Sanemi.

He could read Giyuu like a damn book.

And right now, every page was saying the same thing; you’re not fooling anyone.

Shinazugawa flinched, veins surfacing with the sudden exposure he felt.

Then, without another word, he stomped off, footsteps hard and fast—as if he could outrun the feeling clawing up inside of his ribs.

~

Eight years ago—Mount Fujikasane, during Final Selection.

The forest was hauntingly still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the cold night breeze. Amidst the trees, Sanemi moved with purpose, the weight of his sword familiar in his grasp. His sharp gaze scanned every dark corner for signs of movement, ready to cut down anything that dared to cross his path.

It was then that he saw you.

You were crouched near the clearing’s edge, a few paces away with your back to him. Your nichirin was drawn, held low in a reverse grip. A demon prowled just ahead, unaware of your presence. It snarled, sniffing the air, confused by the absence of sound. You moved closer with a ghostlike stillness—one silent step after another, eyes locked on your target.

Sanemi froze.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, his chest tightened at the sight of you. His pulse quickened, his heart thudding so violently he thought it might beat out of his chest.

What the hell is this?

The sensation was foreign—unbearable even—a heat boiling under his skin that he couldn’t name. It wasn’t fascination; no, it couldn’t be. He didn’t have time for that.

It had to be something else. Something darker.

Hatred, he decided, the word snapping into place in his mind. Yeah, that must be it.

Then, he heard it.

The way your steps had shifted, ever so slightly off balance—most likely from a lingering injury from the way you limped. It set his nerves ablaze.

The demon twitched in your direction.

You tensed.

And that was all it took for Shinazugawa to move.

Sanemi was at your side in a flash, blade cleaving straight through the demon’s neck just before it could detect your final step.

Its severed head hit the ground with a wet thud.

You stepped from the shadows, straightening slowly. Your expression was mostly unreadable—but not entirely. There was something in the narrow of your eyes, in the tight set of your jaw.

Back then, you weren't so good at hiding them—your emotions.

Your eyes met his, and suddenly, Sanemi’s head began to reel. His stomach twisted as he fought to push the feeling down.

“I didn’t need your help,” you said, stepping into the clearing.

Sanemi’s glare hardened.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended, “Your stance was sloppy. You’d have been demon chow if I hadn’t stepped in.”

Your blade rose before he could blink, its bloodied tip resting just beneath his jaw, “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did,” he shot back, his pulse spiking as you stood your ground.

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other, tension cracking in the air like thunder.

Why the hell does looking at her feel like this?

“Whatever,” he muttered, finally stepping back and sheathing his sword, “Stay out of my way if you want to make it through this alive.”

You huffed, turning on your heel and walking off without another word. Sanemi watched you go, his gaze lingering longer than he wanted it to.

Weak, he thought bitterly, trying to convince himself that’s all you were. Weak, reckless, another liability he’d have to watch out for. And yet, as you disappeared into the shadows of the forest, he couldn’t shake the irritating, feral instinct that screamed to rush to your side should anything threaten you again.

It infuriated him. He didn’t owe you anything. He didn’t care. But even as he turned and stalked away, he knew that if anything else came for you, he’d cut it down without hesitation.

Not because he wanted to.

But because something inside him had to.

Chapter Text

The mountains were quiet tonight, save for the occasional howl of a wolf and the chirping of crickets.

You walked along a moonlit path, fog gathering by your feet, hushing the sound of your sandals against the earth. Above you, Yoruha soared along the forest’s edge, his wide wings gliding in a graceful arc through the night sky.

Suddenly, his flight pattern shifted, wings angling downward in a slow descent.

You were close.

A quick scan over your shoulder to make sure you weren’t being followed, and you slipped into the treeline, following Yoruha’s tail. That is when you see it.

A lamplight flickering in the distance through a half closed window, just enough to catch a glimpse of a rather grotesque figure.

Got you.

You exhaled slowly, adjusting the mask over your nose. Your breath slowed with it, falling into the rhythm forged into your bones from years of training.

Yoruha landed in a hush of feathers on a branch nearby, his pitch-black gaze fixed on you like ink dropped into snow.

You reached out and brushed a single finger along the back of his neck—your silent command—and he launched into the air without a sound.

You crouched in the darkness, still as a statue. There was no need to close in on the house, your vantage point will do just fine.

Because you saw what others could not.

Where most would struggle to see in the dark, you saw detail. Your vision had always been unnaturally sharp, even before your father’s disciplinary hand sharpened it further. But under the Shadow Estate’s harsh training regimen, it had become something near inhuman.

Inside the house were four demons. Two seated. One pacing. The fourth stood stiffly, his jaw twitching—irritated, anxious.

But something didn’t add up.

The spider demon from Mount Natagumo—Rui—was dead. That left five Lower Moons. If this was a Lower Moon gathering… where was their fifth?

Your pupils widened just slightly as you adjusted your stance for a clearer view, yet you didn’t blink.

And then, their mouths began to move.

Your ears picked up nothing, but it didn’t matter. All shinobi of your estate are taught to read lips long before they could even pick up a blade.

“So what are we supposed to do then, huh? Go tell Lord Muzan to go fuck himself? That’ll work out nicely.”

“No, but—”

“Look, it’s no secret. Rui’s dead. And now he’s scared. His punishments are worse than ever. Especially for us.”

“Does that mean we should be scared too?”

They quickly spiraled, each demon’s mouth flaring as they spoke over each other. That was when one overtook the conversation.

“Shut up and listen, what we really need to do is get our crap together or we’ll end up just like Rui.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as they each exchanged a glance.

“Hey, I just realized—where’s Enmu?” Asked one.

“Are you crazy? We obviously wouldn’t invite Lord Muzan’s little pet… ”

One tapped her fingers against the table rhythmically, “so what do you suggest we do?”

“We need to kill that kid and his demon sister—what did he look like again?”

“Oh—I think he had hanafuda earrings!”

"Shhh! Did you hear that?"

A twig snapped on the far side of the property, the sound echoing in the atmosphere. Probably from a skittering deer.

You subtly adjusted your stance as they moved towards the backyard door, your mind already racing. You counted the bodies, noted their positions, gauged their emotional states. Your eyes followed the trail of blood leading out of sight, cataloging every detail.

You retreat from your position, but not before he flickered across your mind.

Shinazugawa.

You don’t know why, but your heart gave one traitorous lurch in your chest.

Your mind raced all the way back to earlier that day. The memory of his irritating voice. That pointless fight in the courtyard. His permanent scowl. His mouth. His scars—

You relinquished the thought before it could take root.

Emotions were a luxury not afforded to you. Not on missions, not in the battlefield, not in your estate.

Your father had made that clear. Weakness of the heart led to poor decisions, and in combat, poor decisions led to death.

So you buried it. Filed it away beside every other thing you weren’t allowed to want.

And without another glance at the house, you vanished down the mountain path.

~

Dawn blossomed along the horizon in pastel hues as you approached the entrance to the Ubuyashiki Estate. Morning mist clung low to the earth, curling around the stone path beneath your feet.

You raised a hand, knuckles rapping against the grand mahogany door.

It opened to reveal Himejima.

“Yugiri,” he greeted, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, “the Master has been expecting you.”

You bowed, “Himejima… I didn’t expect to see you here so soon after the last Hashira meeting.”

He stepped aside, “The Master thought I might want to hear the report. He suggested I wait for your return.”

“I see,” that was all you allowed yourself to say.

Together, you crossed the threshold, moving silently over the stone bridge above the koi pond, its waters winking faintly with morning light.

Too peaceful for what you carried.

Himejima slid open the shoji screen, revealing the Master seated at the chabudai table, steam curling from a cup of tea in his delicate hands.

“(Y/n)…” Ubuyashiki’s smile met you, “You’ve returned.”

You knelt on the tatami beside Himejima, your posture betraying nothing of the tremor that had begun to build within your veins.

“Yes, Master. I’ve completed reconnaissance on the lower slope of Mount Oeyama. Four Lower Moons were tracked to an abandoned farmhouse.”

“Continue,” he said gently, his smile serene as ever.

“Rui’s death has shaken the confidence of the Lower Moons. Not only are they afraid of the Demon Slayers, they’re afraid of Muzan’s punishment. Now they want to band together to kill the Kamado boy and his sister to please Kibutsuji.”

Ubuyashiki inclined his head, eyes clouded by his sickness, “So. Fear has taken root among the lower ranks of the Twelve Kizuki…”

From beside you, Himejima’s hands tensed around his prayer beads. He said nothing, but you heard it in the shift of his breath.

The Master rose slowly from his place, the fabric of his robes whispering against the floor.

“Just as I suspected,” he murmured. “But now that we have confirmation, this changes things. Well done, (y/n).”

“Thank you, Master,” you dipped your head.

He turned toward the open shoji screen, absorbing the light of the rising sun, “It is time, then.”

Gyomei inhaled sharply, “But Master…”

Your gaze bounced between the two of them, but you kept quiet.

Is he talking about what you think he’s talking about?

No, that can’t be it—unless…

“Patience, Gyomei,” the Master’s command was gentle.

“Yes, Master.”

Then his voice turned to you again, “(Y/n), I believe you are familiar with the concept I am about to speak of. A phenomenon is said to occur when two specific, yet opposing breathing styles move in perfect harmony.”

You went still.

No.

Not that.

“Master,” you said carefully, “this phenomenon… it hasn’t surfaced in centuries. And even when it was achieved, it was unpredictable. Some records even state that the form was nothing but a myth.”

But the Master’s expression did not submit. It was as if he’d known your response before you spoke it.

“Yes, you have a point, my dear child. And yet…” He turned toward you fully, his ruined eyes seeming to look straight into you, “Fear has altered the landscape. Muzan’s threads are fraying. His ranks are unraveling. We must become something he has never faced.”

You knew then what he was asking of you.

Or—what had already been decided for you.

He stepped closer, "(y/n), you and Sanemi are capable of awakening a force I have long foreseen. While the wind fiercely howls, the shadows sit in patient silence. Separately, these opposing forces are powerful, but together, you can become something Muzan will never see coming.”

He paused—then spoke the word you hadn’t wanted to hear.

“Kazekage.”

The word dropped like a boulder in water.

Kazekage—the wind shadow.

You forced your hands to remain steady on your knees as your breath shortened. You hated that it affected you.

Because Kazekage wasn’t just a combat technique. It was intimacy…something requiring vulnerability, complete unity...

It meant stepping into the eye of a storm that you had trained your entire life to resist. It meant going against everything your father had taught you to be.

Silence stretched, thick and heavy. You let it linger for only a second more.

Then you bowed your head deeply, “…As you wish, Master. What are my orders?”

“There is a nest of demon lurking around Magome-juku, a solitary town along a major trading road. The second highest ranking Lower Moon is said to be the leader of a group tormenting its visitors. Go forth and investigate.”

You bowed again, this time lower. Hiding the slight quake in your spine.

“Yes, Master.”

As you rose to your feet, your composure wrapped tightly around you like armor, you could feel Himejima still kneeling behind you. He had not moved.

His silence spoke volumes of doubt.

And as you stepped from the room, the weight of your own worries had followed you like a shadow at your back.

Himejima waited until your footsteps faded beyond the garden before he spoke, “Master, forgive me this discourtesy, but I must question this decision.”

Ubuyashiki was still facing the open courtyard, “I will hear your concern, Gyomei.”

Himejima bowed his head, “the Kazekage requires more than technical skill. It demands both pillars to have an emotional harmony. But you know their relationship is strained and the Shadow Estate forbids such an attachment.”

“I am aware,” Ubuyashiki replied.

“Then I must respectfully ask; do you truly believe she and Shinazugawa can overcome that?”

The Master hummed quietly, his smile faint, “I believe conflict is not the enemy of connection, but rather its crucible.”

Himejima lifted his head, waiting for the Master to continue.

“(Y/n) is not the girl her father shaped. She is something he could not have predicted.”

Ubuyashiki turned, his gaze as calm as still water.

“They will find what lies at the heart of their pain. And when they do, Muzan will learn to fear the Kazekage.”

~

Sanemi stepped through the splintered gates of the mountain village, blood clinging at the sleeves and collar of his haori. The remnants of the demons they had cut down had already reduced to ash in the light of the rising sun.

Giyuu trailed behind him in silence.

“You could’ve had my back quicker back there,” Sanemi threw the jab over his shoulder as he wiped the tip of his emerald blade on the fabric of his haori.

“I did,” Giyuu replied flatly, “you just choose not to notice.”

Sanemi didn’t bother to argue. His body ached in too many places, and his patience was already hanging by a thread.

The next town over greeted them with little more than shuttered windows and the faint scent of morning rain. They stopped at a rundown tea house on the outskirts—a crooked sign, a faded sake banner flapping against the doorframe, and a single lantern flickering above the entrance like it might burn out at any second.

The shopkeeper, a wiry old man with sunken eyes, froze when they entered. His gaze jumped straight to the swords at their sides, his thin fingers rattling around the tray he held.

Sanemi didn’t flinch beneath the stare. Neither did Giyuu.

Most mountain villagers knew better than to ask questions. If people with katanas appeared, it meant something foul had already come and gone.

The owner shuffled to the bar counter with uneven steps and carefully set down a tray before them. Porcelain cups clinked loudly against the lacquered wood. His hands trembled just enough for Sanemi to notice.

Sanemi glared up at him, scowl etched deep across his face.

The man bowed twice—hastily—and retreated toward the back without another word.

Sanemi’s fingers curled around the ceramic. The warmth of the tea didn’t reach past his palm.

“Tch.” He scoffed. “You’d think people would feel safer with us around.”

Giyuu didn’t respond, he only lifted his cup and drank slowly. Shinazugawa barely had time to slide off his haori before a familiar caw echoed above.

“Shit. Already?”

Sorai swooped down through the door
In a blur of charcoal, fluttering his wings to a noisy descent.

“Sanemi Shinazugawa! Orders from Master Ubuyashiki!” The crow bellowed, ignoring the looks of the startled shop owner inside.

The Wind Pillar hissed, “tone it down, damn it. Can’t you see we’re in public?!”

Sorai narrowed his eyes, wings ruffling as he continued with a clipped tone, “Mission assignment: the post town of Magome-juku. Demon nest confirmed. Rendezvous with the Shadow Pillar (y/n) Yugiri. Special objective: Observe for signs of the Kazekage phenomenon.”

Giyuu’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly, but Sanemi had caught the surprised that flashed inside them.

Sanemi blinked, “what—with her?!”

Sorai nodded, “Yes—no substitutions. Master Ubuyashiki’s orders!”

Shinazugawa ran a hand down his face, swearing under his breath, “Of fucking course.”

Beside him, Giyuu offered a choked laugh as he swallowed the remainder of his tea.

Shinazugawa shot him a glare, but Giyuu was already halfway out the door as if the interaction never happened.

~

By late morning, Sanemi was already stalking the streets of Magome-juku, hands jammed in the pockets of his uniform, nichirin hidden beneath his traveling cloak.

He wrestled with the urge to seek your face in the sea of people. Instead, a scowl became his mask, his gaze drifting lazily over the crowd.

That’s when he saw you, standing deep inside the building of an inn, exchanging quiet words with the keeper. Your red and white haori showed fresh signs of a completed mission; dirt at the hem, strands of hair slipping free from the simple pins holding your bun in place.

The Wind Pillar’s weighted footsteps thudded against the plank floor of the inn, causing him to earn your gaze.

You glanced over—a brief, comprehensive sweep from forehead to nose bridge, pausing at the open collar of his uniform. It wasn't a lingering look, but neither did it shy away.

A jolt went through him, a visceral satisfaction at being so thoroughly acknowledged.

It sparked a memory: you and him, right after your first real Hashira meeting.

"That scar. Along your nose..." you'd said as infuriatingly blank as ever.

Usually, he'd have snapped at you, demanding to know what the hell you were staring at. But, against his better judgment, he held his tongue and let you continue.

"It's nearly identical to the one along your brow."

Back then, you had seemed almost...appreciative. Hell, he might even say you took a liking to them.

He didn’t know how to respond at the time, or how to feel. So, predictably, he lashed out, saying something designed to push you away, though the words themselves were lost to memory.

But that night, a thought struck Shinazugawa—hard, unexpected and dangerous. The next day, he would wear a more revealing blouse so that you could notice that the scars on his face go all the way down his chest.

And when you saw him again, you had noticed. Just like you did right now.

So he flexed in a way that he totally did on purpose.

Nothing obvious. Just a roll of his shoulder, a casual stretch. Enough to draw your eyes again while another thought surfaced in the recess of his mind;

You’re not so unreadable now, Shadow Pillar.

Then, he spoke like nothing happened at all, “Fancy seeing you here.”

Your expression didn’t falter, instead, you turned to the innkeeper as she slid the key toward you across the counter. You took it wordlessly, tucking it somewhere in the folds of your haori.

You approached him with dimmed eyes.

“Shinazugawa,” your terse greeting was almost dismissive.

He followed you out into the street, falling into step beside you as Magome busied itself around you.

“You’re late,” he spits, fists still stuck in his pockets.

You blinked, unbothered, “I’ve been here since early morning.”

He mulled over your words with a flex of his jaw, “then I’m late.”

“Precisely.”

You walked in silence for another few steps before he spoke again, voice low.

“So it’s true,” he mumbles.

“What is?”

He sighed sharply, “the Master pairing us. To see if we can pull of this Kazekage thing,” He snorted, gaze cutting sideways, “Pointless if you ask me. It won’t work.”

You didn’t answer right away. You tilted your face to the sky instead, letting the sunlight catch on your lashes, “yes, it’s true.”

He shook his head, chewing the inside of his cheek, “I should’ve known it would come to this eventually.”

That caught your attention.

You face him, almost too swiftly, “if you’re suggesting that this is some sort of punishment, then I’ll remind you this isn’t exactly what I wanted either.”

He halted beside you, tension crackling like thunder, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Me—?!” 

He caught the flicker in your eyes—the brief, split-second pause of surprise before you masked it.

And damn was it satisfying.

You schooled your expression back to neutral, “you’re the one throwing the insults.”

You turn away before he could see you roll your eyes, though he didn’t miss the slight tension in your shoulders, or the way you exhaled just a little too deliberately.

He couldn’t help himself.

Because you were not soft, nor shy, nor easily flustered—so why the hell did the thought of making you lose that composure send a dark thrill through him?

Yeah, this was going to be fun.

Chapter Text

Everyone in the Shadow Estate knew the legend of the Kazekage.

It was used as a cautionary tale more than anything. Passed down generation after generation, less of a myth and more of a doctrine, a story that molded the shinobi of your estate into the silent killers they are today.

The tale goes: In the age of the first sword masters, there was once a Wind Hashira and a Shadow Hashira. The two were inseparable—fighting side by side in missions, in combat, and in training.

And despite the adversities of their era, they eventually fell in love.

From their bond came a technique feared by many. When the cold air of shadow breathing collided with the warm air of wind breathing, it would summon storms of wind laced with clawed shadows—a razor sharp gale that tore down armies, invisible to the demon eye.

They called it Kazekage.

But during a mission, something went wrong. No one could ever really say exactly what. A simple misstep. A miscalculation. A heartbeat of hesitation.

Whatever the reason was, it ended with the Shadow Hashira impaled by the very Wind she once loved.

They say he unleashed a gust so powerful that it tore down everything in his path, including himself, leaving their bloodlines to pick up the pieces.

Since then, the Shadow Estate has used the tragedy as a lesson. They say that worldly attachment is the root of all suffering. Separate your mind from your heart, and you will be able to prevent such a disaster.

You had lived your life by that principle.

Or at least, you tried.

And yet… there was one final part to the story that was spoken almost like an afterthought—too idealistic to draw attention to, though it always stuck out to you.

‘The Kazekage will return one day when the Wind and the Shadow find each other again in the next life.’

You didn’t know if you believed in reincarnation. Or bonds so strong that they can transcend lifetimes.

But lately…

you weren’t so sure.

From the moment you could stand on your own two feet, it was hammered into you that attachments are a liability. That names like daughter, sister, father, and mother had no place in the vocabulary of a true shinobi.

And though you were bound by this shared blood, no one dared to call it family. You were shinobi, first and only. Even the servants (those few not of your bloodline) abided by your estate’s way of life.

Your father enforced these teachings with absolute conviction. He was never “Father” behind those walls—only Sensei. A man of strict efficiency, shaped by the very doctrine he worshipped. When illness left him unable to continue your training, your brother stepped in without hesitation, and no one dared speak of what had changed.

And your mother…

You never knew her well enough to understand why she left, but some say she had a rebellious nature. A free spirit that could not be tamed by the shinobi code. A code that you never questioned during the entirety of your upbringing.

Until now.

Maybe it had been a hundred little things. Tiny cracks in the foundation you’d once thought were unbreakable.

or maybe it was him. 

Maybe it was the way Sanemi Shinazugawa fought not despite of his anger and grief, but because of it. His scars were proof of that, and yet he survived anyway.

You could hardly believe two years had gone by since you’d become a Hashira, and somehow, you’d managed to avoid sharing a one-on-one mission with the Wind Pillar.

And as he walked beside you, your gliding form had become the target of his glare.

“What the hell are we even doing here anyway?” He demanded.

You remained unbothered, “The Lower Moon Two believes Tanjiro and his demon sister will pass through here. Lately, they’ve been attacking boys around his age, killing or torturing them. Little do they know, he and his sister are far from here.”

Sanemi grunted—whether in understanding or annoyance, you couldn’t tell—and scoured the crowded street with narrowed eyes, “See anything worth looking into?”

You hummed beside him, “A pack of dogs were barking at a secluded alleyway earlier. When I tried to get close, the stall owner in front gave me trouble. I figure we wait until nightfall, when the stands clear out.”

He chewed on your words like gristle, jaw tight, “okay, so what the hell are supposed to do ‘til then?”

He half expected you to not have an answer for him, but you had stopped in front of a small restaurant, inclining your head to read its sign.

“You hungry?” you asked casually.

He scowled at the suggestion on instinct, but hesitated just for a moment.

You noticed.

Without waiting for his answer, you stepped through the curtain, and after a beat of grumbling under his breath, Sanemi followed.

~

The restaurant was a small, humble kind of place that smelled like home cooked meals and spiced broth. It was packed during this time of day, locals flooding the area during their brief lunch break from work.

You slid into a corner booth, taking a seat that allowed the best view of the entrance out of instinct. Across from you, Sanemi plopped down, arms hanging off the edge of the booth as if sitting still too long might kill him.

The server came by, and you ordered a simple miso soup with sashimi.

When it was Sanemi’s turn, he grumbled in a way that made it seem like he was angry for even having to speak, “I’ll take Ohagi.”

You masked your intrigue well, though your brows lifted ever so slightly.

You’d seen him eat it before, you realized, during small moments between briefings when he thought no one was looking. You tucked the detail away in the corner of your mind where you kept your collection of things you knew about him.

Not that you were trying to notice, of course not. It was merely a clinical, observational detail.

Sanemi caught the way your brows lifted, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“What?” He seemed to be threatening you more than he was asking.

“Nothing,” you said, chopsticks sitting idly in your grasp, your tone flat, “Just didn’t peg you for someone who had a sweet tooth.”

He bristled, “Beans aren’t even that sweet.”

You blinked once, “Right,” then returned to your food.

The corner of his eyes twitched as he watched you like a man regretting every life choice that had led him here.

The plates arrived quickly, your mouth salivating at the aroma of sashimi mixed with miso soup. Across the table, Sanemi jabbed his chopsticks around the treat, looking almost annoyed at its delicacy.

Without thinking, he tore a bite off the edge then paused, realizing that you were watching him.

Something flashed across his face.

Annoyance… embarrassment maybe? You couldn’t confidently say one way or the other.

He shoved the plate an inch across the table, toward you. The gesture was brusque, practically hostile.

“You want one or not?” He grumbled, not quite meeting your gaze.

The offer knocked the breath from your lungs in a way it shouldn’t have. You stared at him for half a second too long.

He clicked his tongue, “Forget it,” he muttered, starting to drag it back.

Quickly, you reached out, your chopsticks clumsily bumping his fingers for a fleeting instant. A jolt so sharp shot through you that you thought it might jumpstart your heart.

There is barely a sliver of eye contact before his gaze quickly runs away.

You steadied yourself with practiced ease, hushing the bumps that surfaced along your skin. You mentally scolded yourself, you’d been taught better than to accept things from others, especially from men.

That was when you saw the quick, almost involuntary flex of his hand around his chopsticks, tensing his fingers as if trying to remind himself what his hands actually feel like.

You pretended not to notice, shoving a piece of ohagi straight in your mouth, hoping you would swallow the awkwardness along with it.

“It’s sweet,” you said.

He scoffed and looked away, muttering something dark under his breath that you didn’t bother deciphering. And when the waitress stopped by again, he had ordered another plate of ohagi.

The second plate clinked down between you a few minutes later, heavier than it had any right to be. Your lashes twitched as your eyes flicked from the dish back to him.

Sanemi didn’t look at you.

Instead, he leaned back against the booth, arms crossing over his chest like a barricade, eyes slanted like he was daring you to say something.

You stopped a laugh before it could take root.

“You gonna eat all that by yourself?” You ask lightly, chopsticks twirling between your fingers while you chew on a slice of sashimi.

“Tch. I didn’t order it for you,” he grumbled, taking a piece between his chopsticks, “worry about your own damn plate.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a beat too long. He still wouldn’t meet your gaze. Wouldn’t even glance in your direction. You took a slow bite of your own food, hoping it would tame the smirk that was threatening to surface.

It was just Sanemi’s luck to have finished up a mission with Giyuu, only to be thrown into another one with that mophead’s emotional counterpart.

“Of course,” you murmured, letting the slight amusement bleed into your voice, “you still have a lot of growing to do after all…”

He shot you a glare that could have sent lesser men running, his palms pressing down on the table like he wanted to flip it over, “shut up!”

Still glowering, he plucked the final chunk of ohagi off the plate, and tore it clean in half.

Without looking at you, he nudged the smaller bit of it across the table, muttering something that might’ve been “Hurry up and eat, idiot,” under his breath.

You accepted it without a word.

The waitress came by again once your plates were empty, bussing them away.

Sanemi, as if wanting this whole ordeal over with as quickly as possible, thudded a handful of yen onto the table, enough to cover the entire meal for the both of you.

He cut you off before you could even think of saying a word.

“Don’t get used to it.”

You fluttered your lashes, mouth drawn into a straight line.

The waitress approached, bowing cheerily, “Thank you! Please come again, it’s rare to see such a lovely young couple such as yourselves around these parts!”

You thought Sanemi’s eyes might pop out of his head as he stared at her with enough force to knock her back a step.

The waitress scurried away under the weight of his glare, while a sharp snort slipped from you.

His gaze darted to you, and in a split second you masked it with a few short coughs.

Sanemi’s palm jolted to the table, thrusting himself up from the booth, “let’s go.”

~

The afternoon bled into evening.

After your meal, you each had drifted into your own orbits to pass the time waiting for dusk, wandering the crowded streets separately to monitor for suspicious activity until then.

You spent the afternoon weaving through market stalls, letting yourself savor the small recess like a stolen treat. It was only a matter of time before you’d be fighting for your life again.

By the time the sun had begun its slow descent, your arms were full.

Somehow, without really meaning to, you’d accumulated an embarassing assortment of paper wrapped treats, skewered mochi, and handmade wooden charms from the bustling stalls of Magome.

You hadn’t intended to buy so much, but the vendors were persistent and the noise and laughter of the festivities surrounding you had loosened you up some.

You sighed, shifting the precarious bundle of loot higher in your arms. Finally, you reached the small inn you had checked into earlier, the ring of a familiar voice snapping your attention to the front counter.

Shinazugawa stood there, practically vibrating with barely contained fury as he argued with the staff member, a younger man who was being utterly crushed under the weight of Sanemi’s grimace.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, voice trembling in his throat, “there are no more rooms available, it’s a festival week, you won’t find any other rooms nearby!”

“I don’t have time for this,” Sanemi growled lowly.

The clerk fidgeted, “Not to be intrusive sir, but… don’t you have anyone else you could room with?”

From your spot near the doorway, hidden partially by the frame, you watched the panic settle across Sanemi’s face—a rare, wild flicker cracking through his hardened mask.

You let the moment drag, inwardly smiling to yourself. You could practically see the steam rising out of his ears.

He opened his mouth, clearly moments away from verbally annihilating the poor clerk, when you finally pushed off the wall.

You strolled toward him, the crinkling of your overfilled arms drawing his attention.

His glare flicked to you, spotted the sight of the ridiculous armload of souvenirs, and for a split second, sheer confusion replaced his anger.

You held out your hand, the glint of a key sitting in your palm.

“I got us two rooms dummy,” You say with a lollipop lazily tucked in your cheek.

Sanemi blinked, lips parting into something that almost was a snarl. You relished in the rare sight of seeing him so utterly speechless, so completely caught off guard.

“Try to look alive,” you add with a nearly inconspicuous smirk, tapping the key lightly to his chest before walking past him toward the stairs. The key felt heavier than it should have, pressed right against his scarred chest where your hand had been. He hated how aware he was of it.

You didn’t bother looking back.

But if you had, you might’ve caught the way his gaze followed you up the stairs, eyes slanted, still clutching the key over his chest as if trying to dispel your touch from his skin.

He wanted to be the one to make you lose your composure during this mission. But right now… it seemed you were the one beating him at his own damn game. He clicked his teeth.

Bothersome woman.

Chapter Text

The bustling nightlife of Magome died not too long ago.

Sanemi had just finished up a bath, towel slung around his neck as water leaked from his hair.

From the far end of his room, a knock sounded from the door, the late hour fogging his senses a bit before he reached for the handle.

He yanked it open, frozen for a split second.

You stood there, arms crossed loosely. You didn't say anything right away, your gaze had inadvertently caught on his damp, unkempt hair as it clung to his forehead, and how the veins on his forearms stood out as he held the towel over his fully bare chest.

You flinched ever so slightly and tore your eyes away.

It was unfair really, how someone so mind numbingly irritating could look so effortlessly attractive.

"Tch," he grunted before slinging off the towel and grabbing his blouse off a hook, "where to?"

Without answering, you turned on your heel, leaving him to follow.

The streets of Magome were deserted, the remnants of the earlier festivities scattered like confetti across the cobblestones. Bits of colored paper, broken lanterns, the occasional drunken cackle drifting from behind open windows.

You led him toward the alleyway you'd marked earlier, tiny feet scurrying away as you neared the mouth of it. It was much darker now, unnervingly so. You knelt near the base of the alley, scanning the area.

"See anything?" Sanemi calls from behind.

You lift up a scrap of torn fabric to the pale light. The texture was unmistakable, standard issue for Demon Slayers. A patch of dried blood sat not too far from it. Sanemi's sandals crunched lightly on the gravel as he stepped up behind you, eyes narrowed.

"You were right," he muttered, "Something went down here."

Then, from around the corner came voices and muted shuffling.

Before you could react, Sanemi yanked you by the wrist and pulled you into a narrow gap between a tall stack of wooden pallets and the cold stone wall.

You were nearly chest to chest with hardly any room to breathe. You stiffened reflexively as the warmth of his breath brushed against your lips.

Just around the corner, two lovers stumbled drunkenly down the street, oblivious giggles bubbling from their mouths.

Sanemi didn't spare them a glance. His gaze was completely locked onto you.

Your eyes, however, were stuck on the stone wall just past his ear, refusing to meet him. He could see it. The way you held your breath, the way your cheeks were slightly rosy beneath the moonlight.

A slow, wolfish grin curled his lips.

It wasn’t the kind of smile that would make a schoolgirl swoon. It was bait. A test to see how far your composure would chip away. 

Your jaw tightened, and you shifted minutely, trying but failing to put even a centimeter of more distance between you.
The movement only brought you closer.

The lovers pass, laughter fading in the distance.

But Sanemi didn't move.

You glared at the wall for a second longer before finally shoving at his chest and pushing past him.

"Coast's clear," you bit through gritted teeth.

You could practically feel the smirk he was wearing burn a hole between your shoulder blades.

Fine, he won this round.

But there was hardly any time to dwell. A fresh trail of blood caught your eye, glistening fresh against stone.

You jerked your chin upward, "rooftops."

Without waiting, you launched yourself onto the building's overhang. Sanemi followed a beat later, landing right beside you.

The trail led across the rooftops like dark branches of veins.

"What the hell," Sanemi breathed beside you, eyes sweeping over the branching paths, "all these trails lead in different directions. How do we know which one to follow?"

You bend down, swiping the liquid with you fingers. Still warm. You closed your eyes briefly to quiet the world while you focused. You hush the light drizzle, the faint music.

Then, you snap them open, gaze narrowing into the distance.

Your vision locked onto their movement.

Two demons; one male, one female, sprinting across the rooftops nearly a mile ahead, dragging a small child between them.

"Follow me," you are already darting forward without waiting for a response.

Reluctantly, he followed.

"How the hell can you tell where they are?" He barked as he caught up.

"I can see them," you reply, voice far too matter-of-fact to be a lie.

Sanemi's brow furrowed, but he didn't question it further. Whatever the hell that meant, now wasn't the time.

Ahead, the female demon snapped her head over her shoulder, "They're catching up to us!"

"Damn it, Akuma!" the male snarled, the child thrashing in his grasp, "how the fuck did they spot us?! Do something!"

The female skidded to a halt atop the next rooftop, spreading her claws wide,
"Blood Demon Art: Spiritual Summoning."

You and Sanemi stopped short as the sky tore open above you, ripping a jagged gash through the clouds.

From it poured a writhing storm of wild beasts; wolves, vultures, and deer twisted by demonic energy, eyes glowing crimson as they lunged toward you.

You drew your blade, readying your stance, "Shadow Breathing, Eighth Form: Nocturnal Dance."

You bend your body in a flowing, winding motion, blade slipping through the hoards in spiraling arcs. Shadows rippled off your sword, piercing through beast after beast.

Beside you, Sanemi roared forward.

"Wind Breathing, Fourth Form: Rising Dust Storm!"

A gust of spiraling wind kicked up around his blade, allowing him to fly seamlessly into the swarm. He unleashed the raw air, carving through the beasts and scattering limbs like leaves.

When the last of the summoned beasts fell, both of you landed hard. You stared at each other for a moment, just letting yourselves catch your breath.

"...Well?" You asked finally.

He raised a brow, "well what?"

"The Kazekage," you state, "Did you notice anything?"

He blinked, then scowled, "No?"

You sighed sharply, turning away, "Forget it."

You both scanned the area, but the rooftops were clear.

You cursed under your breath.

"This way," Sanemi said suddenly, nodding toward a lowered rooftop. Together, you crept toward the ledge, crouching just in time to catch the sound of whispering voices below.

"Do you think we lost them?"

"Shut up! What if they hear us?!"

The child whimpered. A sharp crack followed a backhand to the head, and the boy went limp in the demon's grasp.

Sanemi tensed beside you.

"Look, he's got earrings! This might be the kid! If we bring him in, Rokuro'll finally recognize me!"

"You're an idiot," snapped the female, "The boy's supposed to have hanafuda earrings. These are cheap festival trinkets. Let's just eat him and go."

"I don't think so," You dropped down into the street with a solid thud, the black-indigo hue of your blade gleaming under the pale moonlight.

"Who—who are you?!" the female stammered, already backing away.

Your foot pinned her to the dirt before she could blink. Her claws pried uselessly against your foot.

"So... strong..." she rasped.

"They're... they're Hashira," the male demon gasped, dropping the boy's limp body as he turned to flee, "We weren't supposed to run into Hashira!"

Sanemi landed behind the demon like a falling guillotine, crazed grin spread wildly as his grip clenched around the demon's neck, slamming him to the wall with a sickening crunch, "Not so fast, you're going to tell us everything you know about this Rokuro."

The demon writhed under his grip, choking.

"Don't do it Kijin!" The female demon shrieked from where you pinned her, claws digging into your leg.

You press your foot further into her chest, twisting your heel.

"Shut up," You order her.

Sanemi loosens his grip just enough to let the demon speak.

"look, I'm not allowed to say!" He panted, "Just let me go. I won't eat the kid, I swear. I won't even tell Rokuro. Just let us both walk away and maybe we ca—"

The rest of the words die in his throat.

Black veins spread rapidly across his brow, pulsing with unnatural movement. His eyes rolled back as thick, ink-like fluid bubbled from his lips. He began to seize, limbs jerking violently, clawing at the air as though choking on something inside him.

Sanemi dropped him and the demon crumpled to the ground with a hard thud.

The female didn't last long either. Her body twisted in a grotesque arch before gurgling beside him, eyes wide with terror. You stepped back instinctively, watching as the two demons began to convulse.

"You shouldn't have come here, Hashira..." the male demon's voice had changed, a deeper, snarling tone that clearly wasn't his own. They both stood unnaturally, body stretching grotesquely as they neared each of you. Their minds were lost.

You didn't hesitate.

Your blade slashed clean through the female's neck as Sanemi took care of the male, two thuds sounding almost simultaneously against the stone.

The bodies dropped, twitching once before beginning to dissolve into ash.

Sanemi stared at the ink now pooled in streaks on the gravel, his breath still uneven.

"What the hell was that?" Sanemi questioned.

"I don't know," you reply, wiping your blade,"but I have a bad feeling it has something to do with Rokuro."

Sanemi hummed low, watching the remains disintegrate. Without a word, he knelt down near the boy, gently nudging his unconscious form.

"Hey... hey kid. Wake up now, come on," Sanemi's usual roughness was softened as he spoke to the boy.

The boy stirred, groaned, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. When he saw Sanemi, he recoiled instantly, scooting back in terror.

You stepped forward, voice calm.

"It's okay, we're not going to hurt you," you reassure him, "we just want to know if you're okay."

Reluctantly, the boy gave a shaky nod.

"We need to know what happened," you said gently, "How did you end up here?"

"I-I don't know," he stammered, "I lost my parents in the crowd... I went down an alley to look for them, and then those two grabbed me."

You and Sanemi exchanged a glance.

"Can... can I go home now?" the boy asked, voice small.

You nodded, "Yeah. Just... stay out of the alleys, alright?"

He stands up clumsily, bowing his head before turning to run off.

You sharply sigh, gaze darting back to the dark stains on the ground.

"This must be Rokuro's blood demon art," you say, sheathing your sword.

"...which means that bastard is nearby," Sanemi finishes.

"Precisely," you answer, tilting your head to the sky, spotting Yoruha soar above, "we'll need all the help we can get."

~

You and Sanemi had scoured the streets of Magome all night following the faintest leads, only for each one to turn up a dead end.

Yoruha eventually landed on your shoulder with a faint whisper of wings, blinking slowly. A clear sign he didn't have much luck either.

Sanemi exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his disheveled hair as the sky shifted from deep navy to a pale, morning blue.

"We're not getting anywhere," he grumbled, "That ugly coward ran away and crawled back into the hole he came from."

You grabbed your jaw, "This doesn't add up. If there's a group of demons operating here, why haven't we seen more disappearances?"

Sanemi shook his head, "Maybe they're smarter than we thought and doing a good job of keeping things quiet."

You huffed, "And what's the deal with this whole Kazekage thing anyway? We have nothing to go off of."

Yoruha adjusting his talons on your shoulder was the only thing keeping you grounded.

A pause passed between you before he broke it, side-eyeing you, "let's go back to my room. You know, try to regroup ourselves and gather what we know."

Your brow raised minutely.

"Don't flatter yourself," he said, rolling his eyes, "I mean we use the space, talk strategy. This mission isn't going to figure itself out."

You hesitated, hating how right he was. At last, you nodded.

"Fine. But don't get any ideas."

Sanemi scoffed, "I'd sooner gut myself."

~

The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and old tatami.

Sanemi had tossed his haori carelessly over the floor cushion beside him, seated with one knee drawn up as he ran a whetstone along his blade. Each pass sang a low metallic note.

Across the table, you sat cross-legged, your own haori folded with precision beside you. A small oil lamp flickered, casting thin shadows over the page as you scribbled into your journal.

Yoruha was perched silently in the corner beam above, his wide, black eyes fixed on the room; still as a statue.

You pressed your quill harder into the page, the ink bleeding a little at the corners of your script,

'Lower Moon Two. Suspected name: Rokuro. Suspected Blood Demon Art: Ink Posession or Ink Control.'

You set your quill down with a soft clatter, gaze trailing up to Sanemi.

"It doesn't feel like we're any closer to finding the Lower Moon," you mumbled.

Sanemi said nothing for a moment, you rested your head back against the wall as he continued sharpening.

Only when he reached for the cloth to wipe down the sword did he speak, "I've been thinking a lot about what you said earlier... about how there's supposed to be a whole operation of demon here but hardly any disappearances have occurred..."

You tilted your head slightly, "And...?"

"And, that torn piece of uniform you found in the alleyway is a clear sign they're targeting young boys, especially those with our likeness."

He glances toward a tea house just outside the window, "we need to start asking questions. Too many travelers come through here for us to just ask anyone about people disappearing. If we want answers, we need to start with the locals. They're the ones who will recognize a pattern."

You cross your arms over your chest, "huh, looks like you're not as stupid as I thought—"

"Shut it, Shadow Pillar."

A laugh slipped out before you could reel it back in. The sound startled even you.

His hand stilled on the cloth, his eyes fixed on you like he'd never seen you before. Something about the way your laughter filled the room; sharp, sudden, and sickeningly lovely.

you didn’t need to look to know he was staring. It wasn’t a laugh meant to be shared, it clawed its way out. Brief, accidental.

You drew your knees to your chest, chin resting atop them as you let out one last sigh.

"Well, now that we've figured that out... what should we do about this Kazekage thing?"

Sanemi chewed on the inside of his cheek, "I don't know... I've heard about it but I don't really know much."

"You wanna hear something funny?" you asked experimentally, eyes glistening from the firelight.

He eyed you warily, "Do I?"

You glanced aside, as if measuring how much you were willing to reveal.

"In the Shadow Estate," you began carefully, "the Kazekage is... more than just a technique. It's treated like a cautionary tale. It's what our beliefs are centered around. But it's been taught as something that happened once, and should never happen again."

Sanemi scoffed, "why?"

You take a deep breath before letting on.

"It was born from something they deem dangerous," you explain, "Attachment."

You folded your hands in your lap, eyes focused on a crack in the floorboards.

"This whole Kazekage thing...the technique is supposed to come from emotional harmony. Like an attachment to each other," you lean back on your hands, "love, some versions say..."

You could feel his stare on you, heavy with something unreadable. You didn't dare look up.

Instead, you gave a dry, almost dismissive breath, "There's a part of the story that says... the Kazekage will only return when those same souls reunite. When the tragic lovers find each other again in another life."

A silence settled between you, thick as it slithered up your spine.

"So," he began slowly, tone somewhat smug, "What you're saying is... if this thing happens, that means you and I are the fated lovers of some ancient tragedy?"

You tilted your head, tone cool.

"I said some versions. It's just a fairytale."

"Still," he muttered, leaning back against the wall, "if the technique was real once, that means it can happen again. Fairytales or not."

"Maybe," you replied, "My point is that if it is real, I think it's something you have to feel, not something that can be forced."

"Then that's the part we've been getting wrong," he said quietly.

Your brows drew together slightly.

For awhile the only sounds that filled the room were the chirping of crickets outside and the rhythmic pitter patter of drizzling rain against the open window sill.

Finally, Sanemi shattered the moment.

"I don't care what you say," he muttered, eyes still angled down, "That thing is creepy."

You looked up from your notes, somehow catching onto his sudden change in subject, "Yoruha?"

"So that's his name, huh?" Sanemi flicked a glance your way, "night feather?"

You nod, "mhmm."

He huffed cynically before gesturing with the tip of his sword, not quite daring to look at the owl directly, "He Just sits there. Never blinks. Doesn't make a sound. It's unnatural."

You peered at him, "You mean you've been in numerous battles with literal demons who could tear us apart limb from limb, but my owl unsettles you?"

"Because demons are supposed to be disturbing," he shot back, "That bird... it's too quiet. It watches me like it knows something. Like it's just waiting."

Your eyes flicked up to Yoruha, then back to Sanemi, an amused glint in your voice.

"Maybe he's just trying to figure you out."

Sanemi finally looked at you then, And you searched his gaze, finding something between annoyance and begrudging amusement. It set your blood alight.

"Good luck to him," he said at last.

You reached into your sleeve and pulled out a scrap of dried meat, tossing it lightly toward the beam. Yoruha caught it midair without a sound, wings never even rustling. He settled again, ghostlike.

Sanemi watched him do it and gave a low, disbelieving grunt.

"See? Creepy."

"He likes you," you murmured.

Sanemi blinked at you like you'd grown a second head, "You serious?"

You blinked slowly, letting the silence answer for you. He scoffed after seeing your reaction, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn't sure what to do with you.

He glanced away and muttered under his breath, "Tch. Great. Just what I needed. A quiet stalker and its mysterious, freak of an owner."

You bit back a snicker as Yoruha hooted.

And Sanemi—though he'd never admit it—was starting to think maybe the owl wasn't the only one who unsettled him a little.

He shook his head and stood up, sliding his sword clean into its sheath.

"You ready to kill that bastard tonight? I have a good feeling we'll pluck his ugly head right out of where he's hiding."

You rose with him, tucking your journal away, "Absolutely."

Chapter Text

You yawned as you followed Sanemi down the stairs into the lobby, the sound of his footsteps thudding against the wooden boards. Morning rays slipped through the windows, shining warm light on the interior of the inn.

He marched up to the front desk where the innkeeper was counting a small stack of yen, her fingers deft and practiced.

"Good morning," she greeted without looking up, "How can I help you today?"

Sanemi didn't return the smile. He hovered awkwardly for a moment, his jaw twitching. Then, surprisingly he glanced over his shoulder at you, as if recognizing he wasn't exactly built for diplomacy.

You blinked at him, then cleared your throat, stepping up beside him, "Hello... we realize this might sound strange, but we were wondering if you've heard anything about the recent disappearances here in Magome."

The innkeeper froze mid-count. She sucked in a breath, then glanced around the room.

Leaning in slightly, her voice lowered, "What do you want? Money or something?"

Your mouth parts slightly, brows drawing together, "No... I just—"

"Look... I'm not really supposed to say anything, but there were a few folks here last week dressed like you. Said they were here on business. Booked a few nights and never came back."

Your eyes met Sanemi's for a quiet moment. The tension between you drew taut.

"I see," you said softly, "Is that all?"

She hesitated, then shook her head, "That's all I know. Locals keep their heads down. My advice? Do the same. Don't go around stirring trouble."

You bowed politely, "Thank you."

The sound of stacking Yen resumed. You turned to go, Sanemi following closely behind.

Outside, the streets were beginning to stir. Vendors unfurled tarps and rolled carts into place, the scent of warm broth and dried fish beginning to drift through the air.

"That's it?" Sanemi growled, hands shoved deep into his pockets, "That old hag's hiding something and you're just gonna let her off the hook?"

You exhaled sharply, stopping in your tracks, "What do you expect me to do, shake down an old lady in broad daylight?"

"If it gets us closer to that bastard, then yeah!"

"We'll keep asking around, lower your voice," you rasp through gritted teeth.

Before Sanemi could argue back, you felt a light tug at the edge of your haori.

You turned, surprised, to find a small boy standing behind you. Recognition softened your features.

"Oh. Hello," you said, kneeling down beside him, "I remember you. How are you feeling? Your parents must've been worried sick."

He giggled under your hand as you ruffled his hair.

"Not really," he admitted, "They just thought I ran away to my friend's house and had a bad dream. They don't believe in monsters."

Your smile faltered for half a second at his answer, though you nodded, letting your hand fall back to your side. The boy turned to the group of children playing in the street and waved them over.

"Guys, come here! These are the nice people who saved me from the monsters last night!"

The other kids gasped dramatically, voices tumbling over each other in chaotic excitement.

"Hiro told us everything! That was like, so cool!"
"Can you adopt me?"
"Do you kiss?"

Sanemi went stiff beside you, and you swore his hair puffed up like a threatened house cat, but to your surprise, he didn't bother correcting them.

"Damn brats..." he muttered under his breath.

Your fingers curled over mouth as you swallowed the smile threatening to surface.

One of the girls clutched a worn ball in her arms, stepping forward shyly, "I saw one too. A monster. Just a few nights ago."

You straightened, "What did you see?"

"It was climbing on the rooftops, following... something. It looked like tree branches, but they were black."

Sanemi's posture shifted instantly, his eyes darting to yours.

"You're... you're going to get rid of them, right?" squeaked the girl, "those awful monsters?"

You studied her for a moment, your expression hardening, "We're going to make sure those monsters don't come back ever again."

You stood abruptly, turning to Sanemi, "I know where to go."

Without another word, you darted off down the road, Sanemi close behind you. The children called cheerful goodbyes behind you, waving.

~

Shinazugawa ran beside you as you traced the crooked line of rooftops, footsteps light across the tiles.

You skidded to a halt near where you saw it the night before; the grotesque branching marks.

"I was wrong," you murmured, gaze fixated on the black streaks, "last night I thought those marks were blood. But it's ink. I should have realized sooner."

Sanemi slowed beside you, frowning as he crouched to inspect the stain. He dipped a finger into the slick trail, rubbing it between his fingers.

"It's ink alright," he mumbled as he inspected the liquid, "Definitely a blood demon art."

You stepped closer, your eyes narrowing.

The vein pulsed faintly as it wound its way toward the edge of the roof like a living thread.

"we should split up," you offer, scanning the horizon, "see if we can't find where he's hiding."

"No," Sanemi's words nearly cut you off, gaze still stuck on the ink, "I mean... what if we run into a full nest down there? You get swarmed, or I do, and the other isn't there to help..."

He finally looked at you, "We stick together."

Your eyes lowered as you realized he was right, "okay then, let's follow this one first."

Sanemi rose to his feet. Without another word, you both moved, following the trail.

~

Hours had passed, the day slipping into late evening fairly quickly.

The trail you walked along had fallen cold miles from the city in the middle of nowhere, nothing in sight other than plain grass fields and one solitary, desolate tree.

Its bark was peeled like burnt flesh, branches twisted and blackened by decay.

"It's just another dead end," Sanemi folded his arms over his chest, already starting to walk back to the city.

"no, no... look," your voice came in sharp with certainty as you raced toward the tree and kneeled down, eyes following a vein that disappeared into a narrow fissure at the tree's base.

Sanemi turned toward you, only for his gaze to inadvertently fall on the curve of your thighs as you leaned over, the hem of your skirt riding up.

He tore his eyes away with a quiet growl, "the hell you on about, woman?"

"There's something underneath," you insisted, reaching forward, "We need to get in somehow."

You brush aside a large thicket, only for the ground to collapse beneath your hands.

"Yugiri!"

Sanemi lunged the second you disappeared, diving after you without hesitation. The air whistled past him in the pitch-black drop, fingers brushing against yours for an instant before you hit the ground.

Pain ripped up your spine as you slammed into the earth, a sharp hiss escaping your lips. Before you could recover, something heavy crashed down on top of you, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Sanemi groaned, pushing himself up on his forearms only to realize his face hovered dangerously close to your chest. His eyes widened slightly, color flooding his face as he realized the position you were in.

Before your mortification had a chance to set in, a voice echoed from beyond the cavern walls.

It was human, at least, it sounded like it was. Scared. Wailing.

Realizing you needed to snap into action quick, you shove Sanemi off your body, who was already in the process of scrambling to his feet. He huffed, pointedly facing away from you.

You calmly stood up, dusted off your skirt and moved past him, pretending not to notice how he wouldn't meet your eyes, though he followed you without a word.

Your surroundings came into focus. The chamber around you was massive, dug beneath the earth and veined with grotesque black roots that pulsed a sickly blue glow.

That was when you saw dozens of boys—barely older than children— suspended along the walls. Their eyes were gone. Hollow sockets wept ink, mouths smeared with a tar like substance, sealing them to the walls like stale glue.

Your voice dropped to a whisper, "Do you think they're... alive?"

You reach out without thinking, fingers trembling slightly as they hovered near a boy's cheek.

"Don't," Sanemi's hand shot out, gripping your wrist before you could make contact. His voice was low, harsh,"What if they're linked to him?"

You didn't respond. Couldn't. Not when all you could focus on was the heat of his calloused hand against your skin.
The grip was firm, protective.

Damn you, Shinazugawa.

You could already feel the phantom sting of your father's palm, a silent reprimand for letting your thoughts drift instead of focusing on the mission.

All of a sudden, a shriek split the air, sharper than before and close enough to rattle through you.

You moved.

Together, you crept through the winding tunnel, following the strong light at one end. The faint sound of chains dragging guided you toward a cold blue light pulsing at the end of the passage.

You peeked into the chamber.

There, at the center of it all, stood a tall, deathly pale demon. Long black hair curtained his face, and swollen veins fanned across his forehead like scorched branches.

"Tell me where he is," his deep voice gurgled as he whipped a boy shackled to a post.

"I— I already told you. I have no idea who you're talking about!" Shouted the boy.

Your lip twitched after another harsh crack was sent to the boy's spine, splitting him in two. Shinazugawa's lavender eyes darkened with rage.

Nearby, a pack of demons crouched in the shadows, tongues flicking over their lips as they lapped at the scent of blood.

As you melted into the shadows, Shinazugawa stepped forward, already anticipating your next move. The heavy sound of his weighted footsteps bounced off the walls, his sword unsheathing.

"That's enough out of you," Sanemi declared, more composed than you've ever seen him before.

The demon froze.

A slow grin split his face as he turned toward the voice, the whip in his hand melting into a puddle at his feet. His eyes glinted, Sanemi reading his rank in an instant.

Lower Moon Two.

"I was wondering when you two would come looking for me," he drawled, "i'm almost regretful we didn't bump into each other sooner."

The surrounding demons twitched like starving dogs waiting for permission to pounce. But they didn't move.

It was clear the Lower Moon, who you assume to be Rokuro, was their leader. You observed as they panted like hyenas, seeing if their kingpin would take the first bite of fresh prey.

"Forget the kid and his little sister. Killing a Hashira will earn me something far better..." His gaze locked on Sanemi, "Especially a Marechi."

He laughed. And the others followed, howling in sync like hyenas.

"Enough talking," Sanemi scowled, gripping the hilt of his blade with two fists now.

The demon's wide grins quickly fell into grimaces as Sanemi lifted his sword over his head.

"Wind Breathing, Fifth Form: Cold Mountain Wind!"

To Rokuro's surprise, the Wind Pillar dashed past him, launching into the air and unleashing circular slashes from above at the surrounding demons. They scattered like bloodied confetti.

While Rokuro was too busy distracted by Shinazugawa's movements, you took the opportunity to lower your stance.

"Shadow Breathing, First Form: Infinite Void," your voice is barely above a whisper.

You rush forward with blinding speed, unleashing a singular forward slash. If Sanemi blinked, he might have missed your nichirin cutting clean through Rokuro's neck. The other demon are still knocked unconscious as you and Sanemi stared at the severed head, your breath loud in your ears.

Could it have been that easy?

No.

That was when the body melted into black ink instead of flaking away. A sinister chuckle rose up from behind you.

"Oh come on, you should know better than that," With a flick of his hand, the unconscious demons around you twitched and stood. Ink poured from their eyes.

"You focus on him," he growled, cutting down the first possessed demon with ruthless precision, "I'll deal with the rest."

You understood perfectly well Sanemi's plan, and as your foot slid into place, your stance sharpened into instinct, and something clicked inside you.

Like a key turning in a lock. A gate beginning to open.

Wind stirred at your feet, swirling up your legs and lifting the edges of your uniform. It whispered through the fabric, tugged at your hair, almost reverent in its touch. You held your ground, both hands wrapped tight around the hilt of your blade.

In that instant you were met with Rokuro's face. Everywhere.

Dozens of him emerged from the walls, from the floor, from the ink-veined roots. His laughter echoed around you, disorienting, each voice dripping with malice. You spun, trying to track the real one, your breath shallow.

That was when your eyes rested on Sanemi. The world quieted as you followed his movements, allowing you to let your eyes fall shut.

You drew a long inhale. Then another. And suddenly, it felt like you weren't breathing alone. It was as if you and someone else were breathing from the same lungs.

Finally, you saw it.

The thread. The path to Rokuro's neck.

You swiftly launched yourself towards it, nichirin raised. But just as your blade came down, the thread snapped.

Your pulse surged with something unfamiliar. Too much oxygen, too much power. It was dizzying. Exhilarating.

You gasped.

The sensation rejected you.
Or maybe, you rejected it.

"SANEMI!" you cried, heart slamming against your ribs.

He flinched at your voice. 

It shouldn't have come that easy to say his name.

The sound tore from your throat like it didn't belong to you.

You'd never said it like that. Never. And now that it was out, you couldn't take it back.

But it didn't matter. You couldn't reach Rokuro in time. You saw him closing in on Sanemi, claws stretched out like spears.

But he had moved just in time, parrying the demon's strike. Rokuro was sent flying across the chamber with a guttural roar.

The air grew thin. You were breathing too deeply, too fast. Your thoughts spun. The wind inside you felt euphoric and overwhelming all at once.

At last, your knees gave out.

You collapsed, palm to forehead as a splitting headache pounded in your skull. Across the way, Sanemi dropped to his knees too, both of you brought down by something within.

What is this?

A cackle filled the chamber.

Rokuro rose beside you, claws flexing like a tiger toying with a maimed cub.

"I thought Hashira were supposed to be strong," he purred, "What a pity."

He took a deep inhale, then boldly uttered, "Blood Demon Art: Melanokinesis!"

A circle of ink began spiraling beneath you, ancient symbols etching themselves into the stone. He was trying to trap you, you realize.

But the thread returned.

It gleamed like a star through the clouds. The path to Rokuro's neck became crystal clear, guiding you with a clarity that cut through the pain in your lungs.

"Fuck you," you spat.

In a flash, your sword was in your grip.

"Shadow Breathing, Fifth Form: Crouching Panther!"

Your eyes locked with Rokuro as you rise to your feet, exerting whatever is left of your strength into the swing. Your sword carved through the air in a vicious arc, aiming for the right side of Rokuro's neck.

And in that same breath, a blur of emerald flashed behind him.

Sanemi.

Swiftly, his blade howled from the left, wind shrieking in its wake as it cut toward the same mark.

Time seemingly slowed.

Rokuro's eyes widened.

His claws lifted, too slow. The pressure in the chamber dropped. Even the air seemed to recoil.

There was only one inevitable end for him, the twin strikes closing in like a scissor, rushing to meet at the base of Rokuro's skull. Two perfectly synchronized executions. There was nowhere to run.

But somehow,

The blades cut through empty air, slicing the void where he had stood a heartbeat before.

He vanished.

Not like ash. Not like smoke.

It was as if someone snapped away his presence, bursting his form like a bubble, erasing Rokuro from existence.

Silence fell, and you staggered slightly, breath uneven.

Your sword clanged against the stone floor. Sanemi skidded his nichirin to a halt, chest rising and falling with wild eyes.

Your brow furrowed. Another illusion?

You turned, scanning the room. The other demons were already crumbling to ash under Sanemi's earlier assault.

You and Sanemi stood there, breath ragged, unsure if it was over.

Then, slowly, the ink along the chamber walls began to melt, dripping in heavy rivulets.

"What the hell just happened?" Sanemi demanded.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

The ink continued to drip from the walls in slow, rhythmic drops.

Sanemi's breath was still unsteady, his shoulders tight.

He took a step forward, then stopped, glancing over at you from the corner of his eye, "That wasn't him pulling some stunt. Someone pulled him out."

You stared ahead at the empty space Rokuro once occupied, the dim light casting shadows across the cavern floor. You could still feel the ghost of that wind, feel as it kissed at your skin, weaved its fingers through your hair, only for it to dissolve like smoke in your hands.

You didn't speak, not yet.

"I don't understand," he muttered, "I thought we had it there. For a second, I thought..."

His rough voice trailed off, though your figure stayed still.

Sanemi shifted beside you, waiting for your voice, your answer, something.

But you gave him nothing.

Then, slowly, your eyes dropped to your sword. The blade was still searing with blood. You shook your head once, the movement precise and detached.

"It's just a stupid fairytale."

The words came flat, like they were carved from the same cold stone beneath your feet.

Sanemi turned toward you more fully then, expression unreadable. You refused to meet his eyes.

The silence between you tolled like a desolate church bell. The ink had stopped dripping, the pulsing veins along the walls had stilled. As if the hive had been... abandoned. Slowly, you bent down and slid your sword back in its case

You turned away from the spot where Rokuro had vanished, voice emitting from over your shoulder.

"He wasn't ours to kill."

Chapter Text

The twisted tree was gone, swallowed with the rest of the ink markings as if they had never existed.

You and Sanemi had dug out what remained of the bodies in Rokuro's hive, burying them beneath the morning sun. A gentle breeze rustled through the tall grass, tugging at your sleeves as you stood in silent reflection.

Sanemi remained kneeling at the base of one of the graves, eyes fixed on the disturbed soil as if he could will the names of the dead into memory.

"Why did you do that...?" he asked abruptly, voice low.

His sudden question startled you from your prayer. You glanced at him, brows narrowing slightly, waiting for him to clarify.

"I mean... you calling me by my first name," He avoided your gaze.

His lavender eyes flicked up only briefly when you failed to react right away.

"I..." your voice trailed off momentarily, "I'm not really sure. I needed to get your attention, and it just... came out."

For a while, he didn't say anything. You watched as he fought with something unexplainable in his features, the muscle of his jaw feathered, vein protruding faintly from his brow.

You tried to rein the composure back in your voice, "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Don't."

His fist clenched at his side as he stood, the gravel crunching under his sandals.

He turned his face away from you,"Don't apologize."

Often times, you wished your curiosity would get the better of you. That you'd be bold enough to close the distance, to lay a hand gently on his arm, to ask what he was really feeling. But even imagining the gesture summoned the ghost of a slap to your wrist, and the moment slips past. Gone.

So you stayed still.

At last, you tilted your face to the sky, "We'll report to the Master first thing tomorrow. I have some things to take care of."

He bristled, "That's it?"

You stopped mid-step. Your back still to him, but your shoulders tensed.

Sanemi's voice darkened behind you, "You're really gonna pretend that felt like nothing to you? Obviously we were doing something right, but for some reason it hesitated."

You didn't speak. You didn't have to. Because you knew exactly why it had failed.

You fully faced him now, already knowing where this was headed.

He took a step toward you, teeth slightly bared, "It almost worked. I know you felt it too. Doesn't that mean something?"

Sanemi studied your silence for a time, and then his expression flashed.

Not anger, not yet. Hurt, maybe. Frustration, definitely.

"Right," he muttered, "My mistake, thinking you'd let yourself feel anything at all."

He shook his head, turning on his heel.

You let the wind carry away whatever unspoken thing had passed between you, watching him go until the graves behind you were all you had left. You exhaled, then turned the other way toward the path leading home.

~

Nestled deep in the misty mountains, far from the main roads and often veiled by fog, the Shadow Estate appeared more like an ancient temple at first glance. Its dark tiled roofs and sharp, angular architecture were nearly consumed by moss and creeping vines. Constructed from black wood and volcanic stone, it exuded tradition and secrecy, giving little invitation to the outside world.

Outside, It’s double doors unfolded to you without even having to lift a finger.

“Lady Yugiri,” the handmaid greeted with a bow, “This way, please. The Sensei has been anticipating your arrival.”

The paper lanterns lining the garden flicker as you walked through, their light bending ever so slightly toward you. She led you along the wraparound porch, the aged wood creaking softly beneath your steps. It was is as if even after all these months, the house had remembered your weight.

As you neared his quarters, the sound of strained, wheezing coughs drifted through the paper walls.

You exhaled quietly, then slid the door open. A fresh coughing fit tore through the air, rattling the chill quiet of your estate.

The attendant set down a tray of tea and medicine with practiced efficiency, offered a final bow, and shuffled away without a word.

You moved to kneel beside your father, preparing a cup of warm tea and mixing in the bitter medicine without hesitation. As you helped him sit upright, his frail hand reached for the cup with a tremble.

A long, ragged sigh left him after the first sip.

“This sickness has left me weak,” he wheezed, voice gravelly with resentment, “Useless.”

“Father…” you said gently, setting a calming hand to his back.

“That’s Sensei to y—“ another coughing fit seized him, cutting off the rebuke. He dismissed it with a grunt, “Bah…”

You reached into your sleeve and unfolded a cloth bundle, revealing a few neatly shaped onigiri, “I brought these for you.”

He bit into one without a glance, chewing slowly, “You’re just like your mother,” he said, voice low and bitter, “You never listen. All that I taught you, wasted. It’s a miracle you haven’t died already.”

The words stung, even though they no longer surprised you. You pressed your lips into a thin line and rose silently to your feet. He said nothing to stop you from leaving. He never did.

Outside, your brother was tending the fields, sleeves rolled past his elbows, sweat gleaming on his brow. You passed him without a word.

There was nothing left to say. It’s not like you two were ever that close anyway.

You returned to your quarters and opened the window to the quickly approaching evening sky, in case Yoruha came calling. And at this point, you hoped he would.

A tray of freshly steeped tea, a small flask of saké, and a single stick of incense already burned low awaited you in your quarters; A silent offering to the one who bears the weight of the Shadow Pillar’s name. Sleep claimed you the moment your body hit the futon, your first rest in over two days.

At the first blush of dawn, the soft flutter of wings stirred the still air.

A sharp poke to your cheek.

You groaned.

“Urgent meeting at the Ubuyashiki Estate,” Yoruha announced flatly, his talons clicking against the wood, “Wake up. Now.”

~

The grand mahogany doors creaked to a shut behind you as you entered the Ubuyashiki Estate.

Himejima escorted you to the courtyard, where the rest of the Hashira had already gathered.

“Rengoku has yet to arrive?” You ask as you joined the circle.

Several answer with shrugs and a few shake their heads. Giyuu, however, remained still, his features rather grim.

He knew something you didn’t, that much was clear, but you weren’t so curious as to pry. Whatever it was, it seemed you would find out soon enough.

“How was it?” Giyuu asked as you took your place beside him.

You knew what he was referring to.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips as your adjusted the pins in your hair, steadying your breath, “it was… fine.”

Sanemi watched you with a deep set frown from where he stood, arms crossed, eyes wild like a dark storm cloud had settled over him.

The familiar, rhythmic shuffle of sandals echoed across the wooden floor. Everyone straightened at once.

You knelt as one, silence falling as the Master entered. He paused, as always, before speaking.

“Thank you everyone for arriving promptly and on such short notice. Please, rise,” he outstretched his arms.

A few unsure glances were exchanged as you all stood, the air suddenly thick with anticipation.

Another pause.

“Sanemi, (y/n). What has become of your mission?“

You locked eyes only for a heartbeat before Sanemi snatched his gaze away like the sight of you offended him.

Together, you stepped forward.

“Master…” you began, but Sanemi’s voice cut through before you could continue.

“We were not able to defeat the Lower Moon Two, nor did we experience any signs of the Kazekage,” Sanemi’s eyes hardened after he fell silent, looking straight ahead and refusing to acknowledge you at all.

You turned to him sharply, your glare fierce, but he still didn’t look your way.
The rest of the Hashira shared hushed murmurs.

“I see, that is quite a shame…” Ubuyashiki’s voice dwindled, “though perhaps expected.”

He took a deep breath, then let on, “We have received news that Muzan has eliminated the Lower ranks of the Twelve Kizuki. It seems he was able to eliminate the enemy before you two could.”

Shinazugawa flinched, your eyes widened slightly.

"There is something else that I must share," the Master's smile was no longer present, "Kyojuro has fallen."

Sanemi's expression fell. Himejima's grip tightened around his prayer beads. Tokito's lips parted slightly. Tengen looked down, jaw tense. Kocho sucked in a breath and Kanroji covered her mouth with her hand. Obanai's knuckles went white around his hilt.

You couldn't move.

“Kyojuro fought till the very end, protecting those that could not defend themselves. He was able to defeat our enemy with honor. You may pay your respects at the burial site on the hill.”

The master’s hands took to his daughter’s while they led him from the premises. As soon as the door slid shut, a hush wedged itself between each of you.

That was when Sanemi turned to the others, “We need to become stronger. We can’t let this happen to anyone else.”

“Shinazugawa—” Kanroji squeaked, but he didn’t let her finish.

“We need to train harder. Make sure we don’t get in over our heads—and you,” his eyes found you next.

You looked up, gaze cold.

"I don't get you at all. I was trying my hardest out there to get along with the likes of you, but you weren't even trying. You're the reason we couldn't get this stupid Kazekaze thing to work," he barked.

You turn fully towards him now, pointing at your chest, "Me?! I was trying my hardest for your information, and it's pronounced Kazekage!"

“Whatever,” he spat, “You seem to think showing any ounce of emotion will get you killed. They’re the reason people keep going! But I guess you wouldn’t know that since you’ve had your humanity stripped away a long time ago.”

Kocho interjected, her tone authoritatuve, “Shinazugawa, that’s enou—“

You stepped forward, cutting her off, “Honestly, you are the most boorish, pigheaded man I have ever met!”

The breeze stilled as every Hashira looked between you in stunned silence. Kanroji gasped softly, while Obanai raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. Even Tokito paused mid cloud-watching to glance over.

Sanemi scoffs, arms crossed, his smirk lazy and infuriating. Before he responds, his sharp gaze flicks toward Giyuu, who had stepped up beside you.

“Trust me, I’m the only man you’ve ever met.”

Your grip on your blade tightens, your focus is solely on the man in front of you, the one who’s spent days belittling you, testing you, pushing you.

Your sword is at his throat before you’ve even registered moving.

Sanemi barely flinches, his grin widening as his own blade finds its place just above your collarbone, steel biting against your skin.

“You… egotistical—”

“Uptight,” he snaps back.

You lunge, and he meets your attack with equal force, steel screaming against steel.

“Disrespectful,” you spit, striking again.

“Delusional,” he counters, blocking with maddening ease.

“Pompous, self-centered!”

“High and mighty!” His blade arcs, and you barely twist in time, the wind from his swing grazing your cheek.

“Ungrateful! Impossible! Insufferable!” Each word is punctuated by a clash of metal, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“At least I’m not repressed.”

Something inside you snaps.

“Repressed?” Your stance shifts, your next strike so forceful that sparks fly as your swords collide, “I’ll show you repressed!”

Sanemi stumbles back a step, eyes gleaming with something wild, something unspoken. And for the first time, he looks at you like a real threat.

That’s when Himejima’s palms clapped like thunder, the sound cracking through the courtyard with the force of a war drum, rattling the bones of every living creature in its blast radius.

The tension dwindled. Every head turned.

“I understand Rengoku’s passing weighs heavy on us all, but we mustn’t disgrace him with petty disputes and drawn blades,” A breath passed. His next words struck with finality, “Everyone, make your way to the gravesite to pay your respects.”

Your sword trembled in your grip, still leveled toward Sanemi’s throat. The defiance in his stare withered.

You held his gaze a moment longer. A single breath stilled the shaking in your hands.

You softened, the faintest shimmer of tears forming at the corner of your eyes. Then, you closed them, frowning and sheathing your blade.

Chapter Text

Tengen Uzui lounged on the sun-warmed porch of the Wind Estate, arms draped lazily over the back railing while he listened to Sanemi's latest tirade with increasing irritation. The Wind Hashira had been ranting for what felt like an eternity, pacing like a mongrel in a cage, boots thudding so harshly against the polished wood, he thought it might splinter.

"She's insufferable, Uzui," Sanemi spat, circling aggressively across the wooden deck.

"Always getting in my goddamn way, acting like she knows everything! And don't even get me started on that smug little look she gives me whenever she thinks she's proven a point. I swear to God!"

"I could go dizzy watching you," Uzui remarked as he inspected his nails.

Sanemi either chose to ignore him or didn't even register his response as he continued marching back and forth.

"She's just as bad as Tomioka! I knew from the start there was no way we would get along, much less become close enough to execute some stupid technique. It's all so—"

"You both need to just fuck already."

Sanemi froze mid-step.

His head snapped toward Tengen so fast it was a wonder his neck didn't break, "What the fuck did you just say to me?"

Uzui sighed, leaning forward as he rubbed his temples, "You heard me. I'm sick of listening to you complain about her like a goddamn schoolboy pulling a girl's pigtails. It's so obvious it hurts; you're obsessed with her,"He rolled his wrist nonchalantly, "And honestly? At this point, you both need to just get it out of your system. Either kill each other or screw each other. Pick one."

Sanemi's eye twitched, his knuckles whitening as his entire body tensed like a coiled wire ready to snap, "You absolute bastard"

"Don't be a coward," Tengen interrupted, unimpressed, "You can't tell me you haven't imagined it before."

Sanemi's face fell, unbidden thoughts flashing across his mind's eye, thoughts he had meant to tuck away in a casket six feet under... the weight of your body against his, the slickness of your skin, the way your lips might feel beneath his as he—

His stomach twisted violently. His throat went dry. His forehead throbbed.

No.

It wasn't like that. He didn't want you like that. He couldn't.

You were infuriating, reckless, always getting in his way, always acting better than everyone. That wasn't attraction, that was loathing, right?

And yet...

"Oh. Oh... there it is. You do like her," Tengen watched him carefully, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Shinazugawa gulped, clutching the fabric over his chest as if it could stop his heart from burning through his chest.

He heaved violently, like someone who had just gotten the wind knocked out of them.

Tengen's smirk began to falter, brows drawing together slightly, "hey, c'mon breathe. You look like you're about to—"

CAW! CAW!

Both men glanced up just as a Sorai glided above, descending to a graceful landing.

"Sanemi Shinazugawa!" He called, "Here are your orders! Make your way to a city northeast; two powerful demons are on the loose!"

Sanemi didn't hesitate.

Without a word, he drew his nichirin blade in one smooth motion, vaulted off the porch railing, and vanished across the treetops like a gust.

Tengen blinked. The porch creaked in his absence.

"Curses," he mumbled under his breath, rubbing his jaw with an exaggerated pout, "and here I was about to ask him if he'd help me find my wives..."

he sighed, springing to his feet.

"Oh well, considering this mission will require a disguise and a flair of espionage, there's probably a Hashira better suited for the job," he grabbed his chin, thoughtfully as he strode through the garden path, "and luckily for me, she's not too far from here..."

~

Temptation and addiction are related to the root poison of attachment.

That was what you told yourself, seated in the center of your still, barren room. A single line of incense burned low in a porcelain tray beside you, its bitter scent—plum bark and cinnamon—curling faintly through the air.

You sat cross legged on the tatami floor, hands resting on your knees, spine tall despite the weight pressing down on your shoulders.

"I must be separated and parted from all that is beloved to me..."

Your voice was a whisper, repeating the mantra like a knife being slowly honed against stone. You inhaled deeply, and steadily, but the images of your recent outburst brimmed at the edges of your mind anyway.

You broke in the courtyard yesterday. Your discipline collapsed like a house of cards as their eyes struck like thorns of shame.

Especially his.

You clenched your jaw and exhaled, trying again.

"I must be separated and parted from—"

Why had you let him get to you?

You'd come undone in front of the others like some petulant child. If you'd been younger, that display would've earned you a full week in the isolation chamber.

You sighed sharply, throat tightening.

"I must be—"

FWUMP.

You plucked an eye open when a sudden gust of air knocked over your incense tray, killing its torch.

A heavy weight flew in through the wide open window in a fabulous cascade of beads and bedazzled flair. Tengen Uzui launched himself in through the opening, landing with the subtlety of a glitter bomb.

"Yugiri, how's my favorite Shadow Hashira doing?" He asked smoothly, brushing off the dust from his uniform.

Your lips pressed together, an eyebrow twitching as you sat in place, still facing forward.

"...Uzui," you greeted, and only then did you throw him a glance over your shoulder, "How did you—?"

"Oh please," he waved you off, sauntering towards your saké tray uninvited, "Don't act like you're the only who knows how to sneak around."

He surveyed your quarters with a theatrical lift of his brow, "So this is where the great Shadow Pillar broods, quite dreadful, don't you think? I mean, not even a simple Bonsai tree or a sand garden? You could at least hang a mirror in here so you can look at that pretty face of yours while you sulk in silence."

You rose to your feet slowly, arms crossing as you eyed him narrowly, "What do you want?"

Tengen raised his hands in mock surrender, pinching the saké glass with his finger and his thumb, "Easy, easy. I come bearing a proposal."

You drummed your fingers on your bicep, "...Which is?"

Tengen's sparkling white grin widened, his eyes beaming with light.

"There's no doubt about it," he said, taking a swig of the drink in between, "you're the best kunoichi for the task."

He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping like he was sharing a secret, "How do you feel about going undercover in the Red Light District?"

~

The evening had crept up on Sanemi.

By the time he returned to the inn, his body was sore and spent, a dull ache throbbing in his shoulders and legs. He eyed the futon with raw temptation before finally surrendering to it, lowering himself with a quiet grunt.

The mat was thin. The room was quiet. Still, his thoughts refused to quit.

He stared up at the ceiling, the memory of how he felt during the battle with Rokuro bleeding in uninvited.

It was enough pull his heart in directions he didn't entirely understand.

He tossed over to the other side, clutching the blanket, sweat gathering on his brow, cheeks burning, but not from the temperature of the room.

He dragged a hand down his face and grunted, low and frustrated.

His blood ignited like a traitor beneath his skin as he reminisced on the moment it had almost reawakened; The way your shadow had brushed against his hand, tracing over his knuckles with aching affection.

His fists clenched on reflex, like they could crush the sensation away.

But the worst part of it all?

It felt good.
Too good.

And when he turned to you afterward, kneeling at the graves, and asked why you did it, why you said his name, he was almost hoping you'd admit something he wasn't ready to hear.

But you didn't.

Instead, you gave him some bullshit excuse. Sanemi knew that much.

He'd seen your face. The way you avoided his eyes, the way you swallowed before answering. You were lying to yourself, like always.

He scoffed under his breath, the sound low and frayed at the edges. If anyone had seen the way he was smiling just then—crooked, and verging the edge of unhinged—they might've said he had a few screws loose.

But he didn't care.

The cracks in your composure were starting to show, and he was finally learning how to see them.

At last, he let his eyes fall shut, his snow white lashes brushing the heat of his cheek.

Sleep didn't come right away, however. His ears were still ringing with the echo of his name falling from your lips,

like it belonged to you.

~

Across the mountains, beneath the hush of dusk, you travelled alongside Uzui, Kamado, an irritating blonde boy who had been begging for your hand in marriage since the moment you arrived, and an actual pigheaded man.

You hadn't exactly had time to question what you'd signed up for when a sudden tickle in your nose seized you into a fit of sneezing.

"Bless you," came a jovial voice from your side.

You sniffed and mumbled, "Oh, uhm, thanks Kamado..."

He grinned, "You know, they say when you sneeze, it means someone's thinking about you."

You lift a brow, unconvinced, "is that so?"

"Yeah," he nodded eagerly, "and if you sneeze three times in a row, like you did just now, it means someone's in love with you."

You blinked at him, unamused, especially as the blonde beside him immediately started wailing with a bloodied nose, clinging to Uzui's sleeve for dramatic effect.

Still, a small, wry smile tugged at your lips.

"Well then... I suppose that mystery has been solved."

Tanjiro chuckled.

But as the path curved along the cliffside and a powerful wind swept low through the trees, something in the air shifted. A sudden, chilling gale curled around you, kissing at your cheeks and lifting your loose strands into a dance.

You stilled.

Your smile faded, just slightly.

You turned your gaze to the rising moon overhead, glowing pale and watchful above the mountains.

And for a breathless moment, you could have sworn

Someone was thinking of you.

Chapter Text

The smell of antiseptic and wisteria oil filled Sanemi’s lungs the moment he stepped through the doors of the Butterfly Estate.

Blood still clung to his uniform in dark, half-dried streaks, but the mission was done. The demon’s heads were already reduced to ash somewhere in the woods of Hakone.

Aoi inspected him, hands planted firmly on her hips, sharp eyes raking over his bruised and bloodied figure.

“You beat yourself up pretty badly, huh?” she said with a sigh, then turned and barked over her shoulder, “Alright girls! Get him a bed. We need those gashes stitched up stat.”

Sanemi complained under his breath as he was dragged off like a particularly uncooperative sack of rice.

He was deposited none-too-gently onto a bed in the corner of the infirmary, the room buzzing with motion as salves were mixed and linens unfurled. A shallow bowl of antiseptic solution was prepared. Needle and thread were set on a tray beside him.

Kiyo began threading the needle with a steady hand just as the infirmary doors creaked open.

Kanao entered, quiet as ever. Still, Aoi’s keen observational skills had picked up on her.

“I still can’t believe you stood up to that guy,” Aoi said as she supervised the assistants with crossed arms, “No way in hell I would’ve taken that mission. Not for anything.”

Kanao only blinked in response, though her eyes were quietly attentive.

Sumi dabbed gently at a gash on Sanemi’s cheek, her eyes wide, “Mhmm. That man was so scary…”

Sanemi winced, teeth clenched as the needle jabbed through raw flesh.

“Sorry!” Kiyo said quickly, threading the needle as she spoke, “I’ll try to be more gentle. I was scared too. Honestly, I’m just relieved Lord Uzui picked the boys instead of us.”

Naho chimed in cheerfully as she bounced over with a roll of bandages, “Right? And Lady Yugiri’s so brave for going with them to Yoshiwara!”

There was a sudden shift in the air.

Sanemi’s eyes cracked open so wide, the whites bulged around his irises. He didn’t move at first. Just stared.

“…What did you say?” he asked, voice low. Controlled.

The girls froze. Kiyo’s hands halted mid-thread.

Naho paled, shrinking behind the bandage she held, “…That Lady Yugiri’s brave,” she said meekly, “for going along with Lord Uzui’s plan. You know… undercover. As a courtesan.”

For a heartbeat the room went silent, as if it too was waiting for a reaction.

Then—Sanemi surged upright, ripped the needle straight from Kiyo’s hand, and bolted out the room.

“Lord Shinazugawa, wait!” the three girls cried out in unison, scrambling after him like panicked ducklings.

Aoi didn’t budge. Her frown only deepened as she rolled her eyes.

“Adults and their ridiculous love affairs,” she muttered under her breath.

The other girls paused, blinking at her in confusion.

“…Love?” Sumi asked.

Aoi raised a brow but stayed quiet, turning back to tidy the station with the finality of someone who had said too much.

~

“I knew it. You’ll be popular among the men here in no time,” the chaperone beamed as she gently brushed out the last knot in your hair. Her lacquered comb moved with grace, gliding down strands she had already glossed with fragrant oil.

You ended up in the Tokito House with Tanjiro. Uzui had guessed you’d be snatched up by the first place you passed and cut a deal with the chaperone: she could have you, so long as the Kamado boy accompanied you.

“I’m going to train you so well,” she continued, voice full of pride, “when I’m through, you’ll be the most sought-after Oiran Yoshiwara has ever seen.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly at the unexpected praise. Not because you believed her, but because some small, buried part of you hated how pleasing it felt to be admired.

From beyond the open screen door, a few courtesans peeked in with poorly hidden curiosity. They weren’t exactly whispering, and you could hear their commentary as clearly as the shamisen from the room over.

“She’ll rise to the top in no time,” one murmured, “There’s something about her… a kind of quiet charm. She’s bound to catch attention.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” another scoffed, “She’s nothing special.”

“No, look at her. There’s something exotic almost. Like she’s from another world. But still…” A pause, “She has a lot to learn. It’s a pity about that red-haired girl she came with. Poor thing’s been hidden away in the back.”

Your eyes flicked briefly toward the door, but you said nothing.

“There,” the chaperone announced proudly, taking a step back to admire her handiwork, “You look irresistible.”

She gestured toward the mirror and you hesitated, but then stepped closer.

Your reflection stunned you.

Gone was the disciplined shinobi in uniform. In her place stood a woman with eyes darkened and drawn into sultry arcs, lashes curled to a teasing lift. Your lips had been tinted a deep maroon, plush and soft, like velvet. Your hair had been pinned up in a layered twist, adorned with a simple hairpin.

You tilted your head slightly, studying the transformation. You didn’t quite recognize yourself, and yet… you couldn’t look away either.

You had gone undercover before. Many times. As a shadow that vanished before anyone thought to notice you. Your estate had trained you to disappear into your surroundings, not to dominate it.

It made your skin prickle.

You hadn’t expected this kind of discomfort. Not after all your training. But stepping into the world of Yoshiwara meant shedding the protection of invisibility. Here, you would be spectacle. Noticed. Perceived.

And perception was dangerous.

You inhaled slowly, letting the reflection settle like a still pond.

This was a new kind of infiltration.

And you would endure it like any other mission, but you needed to tread carefully.

You thought back to Uzui’s words earlier that night:

“And lastly… Yoshiwara is a magical place. It operates by its own rules. Names, titles, and boundaries hold no weight here.”

His eyes had dragged over to you in that instant.

“Keep an open mind, and you may discover yourself, but if you’re not careful, you may find that you’ve drifted away into the dreamworld that is Yoshiwara…”

At the time, you had brushed off his words. Another one of Uzui’s theatrical flourishes, you told yourself.

But now, staring at your reflection; painted, poised, and nearly unrecognizable, those words echoed with unsettling clarity.

The head chaperone had wasted no time into making sure you got to work right away.

The streets of the Entertainment District pulsed with life, drenched in the glow of colorful lanterns and bustling crowds. It almost fooled you into thinking everything was taking place during the day.

Laughter and music poured from teahouses and brothels, air thick with tobacco, sweet perfumes, and the promise of indulgence.

But that illusion shattered the moment Sanemi appeared.

He hadn’t even been part of this mission. He was fresh from his own, sticking out like a sore thumb in his bloodstained haori.

Now, standing at the edge of a bustling courtyard, his hands clenched into tight fists, Sanemi was faced with something he was entirely unprepared for.

You.

Your presence was undeniable, even in a crowd, his eyes sought you out with frightening ease. And for a moment, he froze, taking in the sight before him.

You were stunning. He knew you were beautiful, had always known, but never had he seen you like this.

Gilded in beautiful red silks, eyes lined dark and enticing, soft lips parting in polite amusement as you conversed with a group of men. Men who were looking at you with far too much interest.

Sanemi’s nails dug into his palms.

One of them leaned in too close, voice thick with saké, gaze trailing down the delicate fabric of your robe. His laugh was coarse, his intentions obvious.

Sanemi saw red.

Before he even realized it, his feet moved, propelling him forward with a force that sent the nearby crowd stumbling back in shock. He was in front of you in an instant, his calloused hand wrapping firmly around your wrist, yanking you out of the stranger’s reach.

Your sharp gasp barely registered.

The men stepped back, startled by the pure fury etched into Sanemi’s features. His eyes, wild and seething, burned into them like a warning carved of skull and bones.

“Not another fucking step closer,” he snarled, his voice low and deadly.

The men, clearly not looking for trouble, quickly retreated, grumbling under their breath as they disappeared into the crowd.

You, however, were less than pleased.

“What the hell is your problem?!” you hissed, yanking your arm from his grasp, “What are you even doing here?”

He ignored the question entirely, “What the hell is this?” His voice was rough, and when he looked at you, it wasn’t just anger in his gaze.

The shift was almost imperceptible, but deeply felt by you. It was almost as if his anger was fragile. Like it could crack at any moment.

“My job,” you snapped, crossing your arms, glaring up at him, “I agreed to this, I know what I’m doing—”

“Like hell you do!” He took a step closer, invading your space, his breath coming out hard and uneven, “This is what Tengen came up with? Sending you in dressed like—” His words cut off, his throat tightening, “This isn’t happening. You’re not doing this.”

You scoffed, “Oh, I’m sorry, am I not allowed to make my own decisions?”

“No.”

The sheer finality of his answer made your breath hitch.

His expression was fierce, jaw clenched, eyes clouded with something turbulent. The veins on his forearms pulsed, like he was barely holding himself back.

You could have argued. You should have argued. But instead, something rooted you in place.

You liked the way his hands trembled with restraint. You liked the way his dark gaze refused to leave yours, the way he looked at you like no one else could have you.

It was possessiveness, raw and unfiltered.

And deep down, deep where you didn’t want to acknowledge it, you liked it.

And you weren’t sure if you wanted to fight it or lean into it. But before you could decide, Sanemi made the choice for you.

His hand reached for the edge of your kimono, fingers ghosting over the delicate silk before gripping the fabric tight, tugging it just enough to disrupt its elegant drape.

So strong, you thought.

“You’re not going back out here like this,” he murmured, his voice rough, barely containing the storm within him, “If you’re going undercover, you’re going undercover with me.”

Your heart pounded in away your father would have called weakness, though you silently let him take the lead.

Tengen, watching from the rooftops with a smirk, merely muttered to himself, “Well, that escalated quickly.”

But you barely registered anything outside of the man in front of you. The one who, despite his frustration, despite his anger, had just openly,

unapologetically claimed you

in the only way he knew how.

Chapter Text

Sanemi’s grip remained around your waist as he marched for the door of the Tokito House, but your hand shot out before he could enter, gripping his forearm with a quiet urgency.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you hissed, stepping in front of him, “You can’t go in there looking like that, you’re soaked in blood.”

He paused, gaze dropping to his haori, now stiff with dried gore and dirt. Without a word, he yanked it from his shoulders and rolled it into a loose bundle, shoving it into the inner pocket of his uniform.

You opened your mouth to speak again, but your gaze caught on the gash along his cheek, deep and red. It pulsed with each breath he took, like it didn’t want to be ignored.

“That wound…” you murmured, your hand lifting on its own, but just as your fingers neared his skin, Sanemi’s body tensed.

His eyes—defiant and wild mere seconds ago—shivered for an instant.

Your hand froze. Then slowly, you drew it back.

“Make sure you find a way to hide it,” you said instead, voice lower now, “No one can see it.”

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then he exhaled through his nose and reached out, his calloused fingers curling gently around your waist again.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he muttered, finally looking at you, “Let’s just get inside.”

~

As the heavy door slid shut behind you, a hush fell over the lavish room. The distant giggles of young courtesans and the muffled strum of a shamisen in the main hall barely penetrated the thick silken drapes covering the walls.

The air was thick with floral scents that clouded your lungs with every breath you took to steady yourself.

You did not know whatever plan this maniac had in mind, but it better be a damn good one, because there’s no turning back now.

The owner of the House clasped her hands to her chest, gasping so deeply once she caught sight of Sanemi that you thought she might faint.

"Hello sir" she purred, smoothing her robes as she stepped forward, hands folding neatly before her, "How may I assist you this fine evening?"

From the hallway, soft giggles bloomed like petals as younger courtesans peeked around the corner, mouths buzzing with mischief and curiosity.

"My, my..." one fanned herself dramatically, "That is one handsome man. And would you look at all those scars! He must be a famous samurai or something."

Another plucked her pipe from her lips with a click of her tongue, "Well he's got the looks, but I’m wondering if he has the pockets."

Without missing a beat, Sanemi reached into the folds of his uniform and produced a pouch that jingled heavily in his palm. It thunked against the lacquered counter with purpose.

"I'd like to request your finest room. Multiple nights and no disturbances," he insisted, "For as long as I need her."

You turned your head slowly toward him, uncertain if you heard right, but Sanemi wasn't bluffing.

Though his jaw remained steady and his stance unwavering, you caught the faint glimmer of sweat above his temple... and the faint pink creeping along the curve of his ears.

A wave of whispers rose behind the partitions.

"No fair, she got so lucky her first day!"

"He's totally smitten."

"If she plays her cards right, he might buy out her contract!"

Her brown irises gleamed like lacquered gold coins as she weighed the pouch in her palms.

"Y-Yes of course, sir! Right away!" She clapped twice, summoning a familiar face from around the corner, "Sumiko! Be a dear and arrange our loveliest room for this honorable guest."

Tanjiro stepped into the room, dressed in handed down silks. He froze the moment he saw you standing beside Sanemi.

Your cheeks burned, and you tucked half your face behind your sleeve, suddenly wishing for shadows deep enough to sink into. Tanjiro blinked once, then bowed quickly and turned away as if to grant you some sliver of dignity.

This drew Sanemi’s gaze to you, causing him to grow quiet. He didn't break away from you once, not even when the owner tittered before him.

"Oh, don't mind her! Any woman would be flustered after such a bold display of devotion!" She fanned herself dramatically, "I assure you she's over the moon!”

A chaperone finally stepped forward, "I'll be escorting you to your quarters. Right this way, please."

Sanemi moved to follow, but when he realized you weren't at his side, he paused. You were still rooted to the floor, face half-shielded, unable to will your legs to move.

Then, surprisingly gentle, he lowered your sleeve, guiding your hand to the crook of his arm.

"Let's go," he murmured.

You didn't argue.

As the two of you made your way to the stairs, the owner leaned in close to whisper near your ear.

"Nicely done, young lady," she said, winking, "You'll have to tell me later what spell you worked on him, just make sure you don't pull an Ashinuke like the last oiran and run off with the man."

You gave a polite smile, though that word stuck out to you as you ascended the staircase.

Ashinuke?

From the other hallway, a familiar voice echoed softly-curious and innocent.

"Ashinuke... what's that?" Tanjiro asked.

Your ears perked and slowed your step.

"It's when someone runs away without repaying their debts," came the answer, the voice of a younger courtesan.

"Why would someone do that?" he asked

"Usually? Love," she said simply, "Like that oiran, Suma. She ran away the other day..."

Your eyes flickered alight. Suma.

That’s one of Uzui’s wives.

The pieces began falling into place.

“Enjoy your stay!” the chaperone sang brightly, bowing as she slid open the screen to your chamber.

The scent of rose petals and vanilla curled around your senses as Sanemi led you inside.

Now, alone with him in the quiet glow of the private room, you’re not sure where to look or how to begin. You hover near the center, your fingers knotting in the brocade of your robes.

Normally you pride yourself on your ability to mask your emotions, but after what just happened, composure feels a million miles away. You risk a glance at him and find he hasn’t moved far from the door.

Sanemi stands with one hand still on the handle, his broad shoulders tense as if listening to the fading footsteps in the hall. After a beat, he turns toward you fully. The soft pink hues of the room dance across his features: the unruly shock of snow-white hair, the strong cut of his jaw, and the jagged scars slashing across his face.

In the dim glow, his wounds look less harsh, and his usual blazing hot glare is gentled to a simmering temperature.

His pale lilac eyes flick over you, taking in your silence and stiff posture, his mouth drawn to a straight line.

“You still with me?” he asks, voice low and just a touch hoarse.

There’s a hint of interest in his tone.

“You’ve gone all quiet. I didn’t actually scare you back there, did I?” He steps away from the door, a few measured strides bringing him closer.

The room isn’t very large. With just those few steps, he’s now only an arm’s length from you. You tip your chin up to meet his eyes, determined not to seem rattled, but it’s hopeless; the moment your gazes lock, you feel heat blossoming in your cheeks again.

“I’m fine,” you manage to reply, inwardly wincing at how unconvincing you sound.

To steady yourself, you force a tight, professional smile, “That was just… quite the performance, Shinazugawa. You…” You pause, grasping for air that suddenly feels thin, “You really outdid yourself.”

He gives a soft huff, not quite a laugh, but you can see amusement reflecting in his eyes.

“Hmph. Had to make it believable, right?” A smirk ghosted his lips, “Though I’ll admit, I enjoyed seeing you look so surprised for once.”

Sanemi’s voice drops a notch, and he leans in as if confiding a secret, “You should’ve seen your face.”

An intense jolt sparks and you break eye contact, your gaze darting to the side.

“I was just playing my part,” you lie, fiddling with the loose sleeve of your kimono.

The silk there is cool between your fingers, a stark contrast to the warmth flooding your palms. You know you’re not fooling him. Sanemi chuckles a bit, a deep, throaty sound that makes you frown.

“Is that so?” He doesn’t bother hiding the skepticism in his voice.

Slowly, he crosses his arms over his chest, the motion causing the fabric of his uniform to pull taut over his biceps. You catch yourself staring a heartbeat too long at the way the dark cloth strains against the hard muscle of his arms and chest.

Feeling your mouth go dry, you force yourself to look back up to his face. Of course, he noticed.

His smirk softens into something almost like a genuine smile, if a cocky one.

“Maybe I overdid it out there,” he concedes in a quieter voice, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable? You’re not even sure how to articulate what you feel right now.

Exhilarating is closer to the truth than uncomfortable. But you’re not about to admit that.

“No, you didn’t,” you say quickly.

The last thing you want is for him to think you couldn’t handle the mission or his part in it.

You manage a faint laugh and add, “Honestly, I was more worried you might be uncomfortable. I know that wasn’t exactly your style.”

He tilts his head, silver hair sliding over his forehead, “My style?”

You swallow, recalling how he had grabbed you, how his voice had dropped into a possessive growl you’d never heard from him before. The memory sends a thrill through you even now.

“Being so,” a breath, “affectionate.”

The word feels strange on your tongue, but it’s the best way to put it. You dare another glance at him and find his expression unreadable now.

Damn. Was that the wrong thing to say?

You hurry to clarify, stumbling over your words, “I mean, you were very convincing. I’m sure everyone believes we’re…”

“Lovers,” he finishes for you bluntly.

The word hangs in the perfumed air, and you swear the room grows even quieter in its wake. Sanemi uncrosses his arms, and your eyes flicker to the movement. He’s flexing his scarred and marbled hands, almost restlessly. For some reason, the sight of them makes your heart stutter.

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, “Everyone believes we’re lovers.”

The reality of your situation washes over you both: to everyone else in this building, Sanemi is your passionate paramour, and he’s claimed you for himself. Which means… your cover expects a certain level of intimacy. The thought sets off another flutter in your stomach.

Sanemi clears his throat and turns away a fraction, glancing around the room as if noticing it for the first time. His gaze lands on the opulent bed draped in crimson silk and then skitters away just as quickly.

“They certainly gave us the royal treatment,” he mutters.

You wonder if he’s as affected by that single charged word ‘lovers’ as you are. There’s a tautness in his posture now that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“Multiple nights’ stay, private room, no disturbances,” you recite what he requested, mostly to fill the silence.

You step over to the small lacquered table, fingertips trailing along its polished surface. There’s a delicate porcelain teapot and two cups set out, alongside a bottle of warmed saké and two small glasses. The Kamado boy really did think of everything. You busy yourself by pouring a cup of the saké, thankful to have something to occupy your hands.

“We… should probably talk about sleeping arrangements,” you say, trying to inject a practical tone into your voice.

Behind you, Sanemi snorts softly.

“Sleeping arrangements,” he echoes,“Right.”

You can hear him moving closer across the tatami floor. Even with your back turned, you’re hyperaware of him—the careful tread of his footsteps, the faint rustle of his clothes, the weight of his stare lingering on you.

You sip the saké quickly, hoping a bit of liquid courage might steady your jangling nerves. The warm, slightly sweet rice wine slips down your throat, spreading heat through your chest.

In the quiet that follows, Sanemi comes to a stop just behind you. You can see his reflection faintly in the dark lacquer of the table: tall and broad, white hair ghosting his sharp eyes as he peers over your shoulder. His presence at your back sends a wave of pinpricks through you.

Gently, he reaches around you for the second saké glass. The brush of his arm against your shoulder as he does so is casual, yet you feel it acutely – a feverish, magnetic touch through the thin layers of your clothing.

He lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, his throat working as he swallows the saké in one go.

“Not bad,” he remarks.

You finally turn to face him, clutching your own cup in two hands. Sanemi meets your eyes over the rim of his glass.

“You’re thinking awfully hard,” he observes, “If you’re worrying about me, don’t. I can sleep on the floor—”

“No,” you blurt out, then bite your lip.

That came out more forcefully than you intended.

You inhale and try again, tempering your voice, “I mean… you paid for the room, and for me. It would look strange if you, um, slept on the floor.”

The words ‘paid for me’ hang awkwardly between you. You know he did it to keep you safe from strange men, but saying it aloud made you unsure how to feel.

Sanemi frowns faintly, “It’s not like I actually own y–” he cuts himself off, suddenly looking away as if the very concept bothers him.

He sets down the empty cup with perhaps a bit more force than necessary.

“Never mind. You’re right. They’d expect us to share the bed,” his jaw feathered on the last words.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

Your heart has started thudding again. The idea of lying beside him all night, of pretending to be that intimate…

Normally, you would be more focused on the mission, on whatever information you’re here to gather in this brothel. But that was the problem with him.

Shinazugawa made you different.

He made you want things—think things that would have earned you a firm hand across the face as a child.

A heavy silence settles. Sanemi’s eyes find yours and holds them. Despite the tension, his face was unreadable, the way it would always get when he was gauging your reaction. You realized then that he might be just as uncertain as you are. That thought steadies you a little.

That’s when you caught the thin trail of blood slipping down his cheek.

“You’re hurt,” you murmur, reaching up to wipe it away with your fingertips.

Perhaps the gesture was a little bold, but for some reason, you don’t mind.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Shinazugawa,” you sigh, gaze tracing the curve of his gash.

He lifts a hand, and for a moment, you brace for him to push yours away. But instead he surprised you by reaching out and gently hooking one finger under your chin, guiding your orbs up.

The calloused pad of his finger just barely grazes your skin, yet it sends a spark so intense through your nerves that it causes your hand to retreat. His touch is far more tender than you expected.

“Listen,” he says, his voice gone husky. “What I said out there… about me buying you. You know I just said that for appearances, to keep you safe.”

He pauses, and you find yourself holding your breath. His face is inches from yours now; you can see the intricacies of the silvery scars across his nose, the way his pale eyelashes cast faint shadows on his cheekbones.

“But in here,” he continues slowly, “there’s no one watching. No need to put on a show,” His eyes drop to your lips briefly, and your heart skips. “So if anything happens… it’s because we want it to. Understand?”

Your lips part, a soft inhale the only sound you can manage. You do understand. In fact, you understood it the moment you stepped into this room. No more pretenses.

Yet hearing him say it out loud, hearing the faint tremor under the smooth baritone of his voice – it makes your head spin.

“I understand,” you whisper.

Your voice is barely audible over the soft crackle of the lantern flame, but he hears you. His finger under your chin slips away, and for a second you almost whimper at the loss of contact. But then his hand find yours at your side. He presses his rough palm against the back of your hand, silently asking. You answer by interlinking your fingers, gaze dancing between his.

Sanemi lets out a slow breath you hadn’t realized he was holding. His hand tightens around yours, and he steps even closer, until the front of his body almost, almost brushes against yours. You can’t help it – your eyes flick down to his lips. Those lips that only hours ago snarled fearlessly at would-be customers now look unbearably soft. You feel him squeeze your hand, drawing your attention back up. He’s watching you intently, his eyes hot and heavy-lidded. The blunt honesty of his gaze steals your breath.

He watched you like he was seeing you for the first time. He wandered in your gaze, traveling to a place where few have reached.

A place where the rivers whispered, where the wind softened… a place he could call home.

And there, he found no more lies, no more shadows, only light…

Chapter Text

Time seems to slow.

One of you moves. You’re not sure who closes the final inch of distance – and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is gentle at first, a feather-light press of warmth, as if both of you are unsure if this is truly allowed. Your eyes flutter shut. Sanemi’s free hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheek in a way that makes you melt. It feels tender, achingly so.

A soft sigh escapes your throat as you begin to kiss him back. That small sound seems to snap the last thread of Sanemi’s restraint. In an instant, the kiss deepens. He pulls you against him, arms wrapping around your waist. Your fingers, still entwined with his, squeeze reflexively.

He pulled away, slowly, just enough that your foreheads nearly touched.

“Say it again,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You blinked, “Say what?”

“My name.”

Silence.

He didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Maybe he’d lost too much blood. Maybe it was the way you were looking at him, eyes dancing between his.

“Sanemi,” you said finally, quietly.

His eyes closed for half a second. Like he was savoring it.

Then you added, without thinking, “Nemi.”

Time stopped.

His eyes snapped open.

“What did you just call me?”

Your cheeks tinted, “You don’t like it?”

He stared at you a beat too long.

Then, with a low, rough scoff, he muttered, “Tch. You’re unbelievable.”

But when you started to pull away, he caught your wrist.

“Hey,” he said, voice hoarse, “Call me that again.”

“Nemi?”

Something in his chest gave in.

“Yeah,” he said, “You can call me that. Just you.”

There is nothing hesitant about him now. His mouth moves against yours with growing hunger, head tilting to slot more firmly against you. He tastes faintly of saké and mint.

You gasp as his teeth graze your lower lip, and he takes the opportunity to press forward, claiming the soft whimper that spills from you with a low groan of his own.

The cup in your other hand slips from your grasp and lands on the table with a dull clink, but neither of you pays it any mind. Freed, your hand flies up to grip the collar of his uniform, clutching the fabric as if to anchor yourself in the dizzying rush. Through the parted front of his jacket you feel the solid warmth of his chest and the ridges of an old scar under your fingertips. Sanemi makes a rough sound in his throat at your touch – a sound that sets every nerve in your body alight.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips along your jaw and down the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“You…” he purred against your pulse, voice ragged, “Gods, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Each word is punctuated by a gentle bite or a soothing kiss at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Your head falls back, giving him better access as a shudder of pleasure rolls through you. It’s astonishing, how quickly the awkwardness has morphed into this blazing need.

Maybe the act was a spark, but this, what’s happening between you now, is an uncontrolled fire.

Your reach up and thread your fingers into his hair. It’s as soft as it looks, silken strands yielding to your touch. He growls appreciatively at the tug of your fingers, capturing your lips once more in a bruising kiss that sends heat pooling in your belly. He’s walking you backward, guiding you toward the plush bed, though you hardly notice until the back of your knees bump the mattress. Gently, he lowers you onto the cushioned futon, the silk sheets cool under your overheated skin as you sink down with him above you.

Sanemi hovers over you, propped on one forearm. For a moment, he pauses, chest heaving as he takes you in. Whatever he sees in your face makes his eyes soften. His other hand comes up to brush a loose strand of hair away from your forehead. The caress is almost reverent, and it makes your heart ache. You wonder if he can sense how utterly lost in him you are.

“This okay?” he asks, voice rough with emotion now, not just desire.

He’s giving you one last chance to say stop, as if either of you could turn back at this point.

Your answer is immediate, “Yes.”

Your hands slide up over his shoulders, fingers tracing the contours of lean muscle beneath. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, you feel the rapid thunder of his heartbeat matching your own.

“This is… more than okay.”

Relief and desire war in his expression for a split second, and then he’s kissing you again, harder and more urgently. You yield to him completely, opening yourself to the intoxicating heat of his mouth and the weight of his body pressing you into the soft mattress. His kisses travel again, exploring the curve of your throat and the delicate line of your collarbone.

When his lips find the sensitive spot just behind your ear, you can’t suppress the moan that spills out. The sound seems to inflame him; he groans your name against your skin like a vow.

You feel his hand at the tie of your robe, hesitating. Heart pounding, you cover his hand with yours and guide it, helping him loosen the silken sash. The heavy outer robe falls open slightly, exposing the inner layer of your kimono and a glimpse of bare skin at the base of your throat. Sanemi’s gaze darkens, his fingers grazing that newly revealed skin with almost unbearable gentleness. It’s as if he’s memorizing every inch of you, committing it to heart.

His touch leaves fiery trails as he traces along the edge of your collar, then down your arm. He laces his fingers with yours, pinning your joined hands beside your head on the pillow. His breathing is ragged and his cheeks are dusted pink.

A rare tenderness is in place of the usual fierce wind of his eyes, “This isn’t an act anymore.”

You shake your head, drawing him down for another kiss, pouring all the unspoken feelings into it.

No, nothing about this feels like acting.

The devotion in his kiss, the urgency in his touch, the way your body responds eagerly to him… it’s all real, frighteningly and wonderfully real.

Outside your room, the nightlife of the brothel continues; faint laughter, the distant twinkle of a shamisen, footsteps in the hall. But inside, within the cocoon of lantern glow and crimson silks, it’s as if time stands still for you and Sanemi.

In that moment, as Sanemi’s mouth claims yours once more and your bodies entwine amid the plush cushions, one thing is certain: whatever this night requires you to pretend, the passion sparking between you is undeniably genuine.

He shifted beneath you, rolling you carefully into his lap until you straddled him, his hands steady at your waist, like you were something divine he didn’t dare mishandle.

His palms slid down, the silken fabric you wear crinkling under the pressure of his calloused hands as they found your hips. He leaned into your lips with a hunger that stole your breath, stealing kiss after kiss as if he’d been starved of them for lifetimes.

Your arms drape over his shoulders, fingers weaving through his wild, silvery mane. A low, shameless purr escaped him at your touch, reverberating deep in his throat as he pulled you tighter into him.

A soft gasp slipped from your lips when you felt the hard length of him pressing beneath you, heat blooming between your thighs as the kiss deepened. His hands moved with intent, finding the knot at your waist and tugging it loose with practiced ease. The back of your underlining fell away, cool air brushing against your skin, followed by the far warmer touch of his palms.

Still kissing you, his hands roamed slowly over the exposed planes of your back, fingers leaving sparks in their wake. You matched him with equal fervor, exploring the muscles beneath his uniform, feeling them flex and ebb beneath your fingertips.

You’ve dreamed of this—of touching him like this—ever since the first time you caught a glimpse of that scarred chest all those years ago.

His jaw went slack at your touch, his breathing shallow as your hands slid further down, hungry to memorize every line of him. When your tongue slipped past his lips, he caught it gently between his teeth, his smirk widening at your soft gasp. He suckled once.

The silk fabric fell away from your chest with a whisper, pooling at your waist and baring your chest to the candlelight. Sanemi broke the kiss, his breath hitching as his eyes dropped, widening slightly. For a moment, he just stared, beholding the sight before him.

You felt the flush rise to your cheeks, but the shameless admiration in his gaze made your spine straighten, confidence blooming where hesitation once sat. You arched ever so slightly, offering yourself to him.

His arm pulled you in from the small of your back, whining softly once his mouth found your breast, hot and greedy. His rough tongue dragged over your nipple before he suckled, slow and deliberate. You tipped your head back, eyes fluttering shut.

Then, suddenly, a sharp smack landed on your rear. You yelped, startled, and he chuckled into your skin, amused by the way your body jolted.

His finger curled around the delicate lace of your underwear, his voice rough and low, “Slip these off for me.”

The command lingered in the air, his tone demanding, but his eyes betrayed him, full of something prideful.

The words coiled down your spine, setting your nerves alight as you obeyed, sliding your hands down to tug them over your hips. Sanemi guided you onto your back, his hands careful. He took over then, peeling the fabric the rest of the way down with excruciating slowness, savoring every second of the reveal.

When he reached the final stretch and tossed the fabric aside, his breath hitched. His gaze locked onto the slickness glistening between your thighs, and his face flushed, mouth slightly open.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice gone hoarse.

Your legs instinctively pressed together while you bit your lip, “Your turn.”

You sat back on your calves, watching him with hooded eyes. He didn’t break eye contact as he leaned back, dragging his pants and briefs down in one motion.

He sprang free, hard and thick, slapping lightly against his abdomen. You jumped slightly at the size of him.

Sanemi smirked, dark and proud.

You crawled back into his lap, and he guided you with strong, steady hands, positioning you above him. One arm slid around your waist, anchoring you to him, while the other steadied his length. Slowly, achingly, you began to sink down.

Both of you gasped.

The air punched from your lungs as he stretched you, filling you inch by inch. Your foreheads touched, breath mingling in broken pants as you adjusted, your hands braced against his chest.

Tears moved welled in the corner of your eyes from the sting, but once he was fully inside, you began to move.

And Sanemi—gritting his teeth, his body trembling beneath yours—let you. One arm around the small of your back, the other gripping your thigh as he guided your rhythm. You were hot and tight and perfect around him, and as you rocked your hips, the air between you grew thick.

His gaze traced your mouth, enjoying the way your lips parted with pleasure as your rode him. You could feel yourself nearing that edge, your body trembling with the promise of release.

His hand slid up from your waist, calloused fingers brushing the tears from your cheeks with unexpected tenderness. He wished right then he could do this for eternity.

It was hard to stay quiet. His length throbbed inside you, thick and flared, and the way he filled you made every thought scatter. You’ve never felt anything better than this, you thought.

Your walls tightened, pulsing around him more insistently now. You were trying to hurry the pace, to send yourself over the edge, but his hands moved to your waist to hold you still. Sanemi swallowed your whimper with a kiss.

"Nemi…" you begged, barely able to form his name, “please.”

His breath fanned out over your collarbone, lips brushing your neck as he slowly thrust up into you, deeper this time, until the head of him pressed unforgivingly against your cervix.

"You will," he promised, "I want to feel you cum."

He held you flush to him, buried deep. It was all too much. His warmth, his husky voice, the look in his beautiful—

“Ahh—!”

The tightening in your core released with a spasm and you cried out, bucking your hips, grinding against him in wave after helpless wave. You twitched, clutching at his strong shoulders, as the pressure gave way to bliss.

Sanemi leaned back, watching your juices gush out around his length. He groaned, unable to hold back now, and found himself cursing through gritted teeth. You were still finishing when his hot ropes of cum shot out against your walls.

You both just stared at each other for a moment with flushed cheeks and hair slick from sweat, trying to catch your breath.

A dull ache pulsed through your core as he eased out of you, careful despite the rawness he’d left behind. His gaze dipped, and for a moment he just looked, watching his release slip from between your thighs with a dark, satisfied hum. It glistened with a quiet, intimate reminder of just how deeply you had let him in.

A possessive part of him stirred at the sight. But beneath that. Beneath the pride and the satisfaction, was something else.

His eyes met yours again, and the hunger eased. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, fingers lingering at your cheek.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice husky, quieter than he intended.

But it wasn’t a claim. It wasn’t a demand.

It was a confession. A vow.

And when you didn’t pull away, when you leaned into his touch like it was the only thing tethering you to this world, he knew.

You were his.

And he was yours.

Chapter Text

You were his.

And he was yours
.
.
.

Then, you blinked.

Fluttering your lashes as if waking from a dream.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and you slowly pulled away from his palm, crawling toward the edge of the bed. The cool air prickled against your skin, the warmth of his body fading behind you.

You leaned forward, head cradled in your hands, elbows resting on your thighs.

Sanemi moved almost instantly, wordless and careful.

He sat beside you, his palm settling gently on your back. An uncharacteristically tender touch from someone who never did anything gently.

"What are we doing, Sanemi?" you question, voice low and disbelieving, "I mean... we're supposed to hate each other."

The words hung there, awkward and naked. You turned your head slightly. He looked back at you.

And then, almost shyly, a crooked smile crept onto both your lips at the same time.

You looked away, and Sanemi scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting elsewhere, not quite laughing, but pretty damn close.

"Yeah..." he exhaled, like even he couldn't believe it, "we are, aren't we?"

You both broke into a chuckle. Sharp, startled, a little breathless. The kind of laughter that came from uncertainty and relief.

"I—I mean..." you gasped between fits, "we had sex!"

The nerves began to settle down, though a faint grin still lingered on Sanemi's lips, "Yeah... yeah, we did, didn't we?"

You let out a heavy breath, fingers coming up to cover your mouth, "I... how did this even happen?"

His grin softened, then slipped away entirely. His eyes hardened, shadowed beneath pale lashes.

"...I don't know," he murmured.

And just like that, the weight of the moment settled in. Sanemi shifted beside you, running his thumb across the inside of his palm like he was trying to work up the nerve to say something. Then his voice broke through, low and almost sheepish.

"...It didn't feel like I thought it would."

You glanced sideways at him, curious,
"What do you mean?"

He exhaled a humorless half-laugh, "I don't know. Thought it'd be angry. Thought it'd feel like some dumb release, like scratching an itch."

He paused, and for a second you could see the muscles in his jaw twitch, like he hated admitting it.

He spoke quieter now, "But it didn't. It felt... different."

You didn't respond right away. You weren't sure what to say.

His eyes flicked toward you, as if suddenly realizing what he'd just confessed, "Not that I'm saying I—just. You're not what I expected. That's all."

You looked away, heart thudding just a little too hard against your ribs.

He spoke again after a beat, "...was it different for you?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Your fingers twisted in the blanket where it pooled in your lap.

"Yes."

That single word seemed to ease something in him. And tense something else.

He sat forward slightly, "So then... was that your first time?"

You blinked at him, surprised by the question. Not because it was inappropriate, but because of the way he asked it. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just... honestly curious.

"No. It wasn't," you say softly.

His lashes twitched, clearly caught off guard.

You hesitated before continuing, choosing your words carefully, "There was someone. A long time ago. Another slayer."

His expression twisted, "Let me guess. Tomioka."

You nearly choked, "No. Not Giyuu."

That shut him up.

You looked down at your hands, "It wasn't serious. It couldn't be. I kept it hidden... from my estate. From my father. From... everything."

You could feel the way his presence stilled beside you.

"He passed away a while ago. On a mission. I delivered the remains to his family."

Only then did Sanemi speak again, quieter now. And this time, with no sarcasm, "...I'm sorry."

You gave a small nod. It was all right. It had been years. But saying it aloud still left an ache behind your ribs.

He was silent for a moment, then shifted his weight again.

"What about you?" you asked, head tilted, "Was there ever someone you were close with like that?"

He frowned, "I've had a few brief partners here and there but, if you're asking have I ever had a relationship..."

Sanemi's gaze drifted to some far-off point, "I mean, no. The closest I ever came to that was with Kanae Kocho."

The name made you shift, knees tucking up toward your chest as your full attention fell on him.

He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words, "It's not what you're thinking. We never did anything. I just sort of... admired her."

He paused, eyes shadowed with thought.

"She was kind. Too kind for this world. For me. I think that's what drew people to her, like sunlight. But the thing about light like that is... you can't hold onto it. She was never mine to begin with. I knew that. I let her go... a long time ago."

He fully turned towards you now, gaze dancing between yours,

"But you..."

The light shot diamonds in his eyes.

"You walked into my life and never really left. I didn't even realize it until you became Tsuguko. Five years had passed since I saw you for the first time and still I—”

He then licked his lips, stopping himself and lowering his sight just a fraction.

"hmm... it's getting late," he muttered, observing the room, "We should head to bed."

Your chest tightened, still you offered a small nod, trying not to show the disappointment you felt when he moved to the opposite end of the bed, leaving that suspended thought hanging in the space between you like a half-closed door.

"Right..." you murmured as you lifted the edge of the silk sheets and slid in beside him.

Chapter Text

"Sensei, sensei!"

You held a small turtle in your palms, its head peeking shyly from its shell. You beamed as you lifted it toward your father.

"Can I keep him?" You asked too innocently.

His expression darkened instantly. The warmth in your chest faltered.

Without a word, he seized the collar of your uniform in his fist and dragged you to the pond in the courtyard.

"Have you learned nothing?!" His voice cracked like a whip as he hurled you to the dirt.

You curled around the turtle, shielding it from the impact. Its shell was dusted with soil, its legs flailing in confusion.

A figure stood by the veranda steps. Your brother, back straight, expression unreadable. Your father's voice lashed through the air like steel.

He loomed over you, a shadow blotting across your figure, "You will respect me. You will respect the Estate."

"I do!" you cried, the words spilling out with the sting of tears.

His brow arched.

Slowly, deliberately, he drew his blade. "Then surely, you will drown it."

A wicked smile flashed across your brother's lips.

Your breath hitched, "B-but—"

"Drown it!" His neck flushed red, the veins at his temple standing out, "I will not ask you again!"

Your hands shook as you shuffled toward the pond. The turtle's feet paddled weakly against your fingers.

"Go on."

You closed your eyes, forcing down a sob as you lowered it into the cold water.

"Do it."

The surface broke in ripples. Tiny bubbles rose, then slowed...

When suddenly you pulled it free from the pond, clutching the shell to your chest.

"I cant... I can't do it," You hiccup.

There was an instant crack across your face, cheek burning from the sting. Without hesitation, your brother snatched the creature from your embrace and tossed it onto the field. The shell cracked under his blade with a sickening crunch.

"Do you see now?" Your father's voice was a low, seething growl, "your brother did not hesitate. He knows how to obey, to strike when the moment is right. When you form attachments, you become weak. Incompetent like you were just now to obey orders. You get others killed.

You're the reason it's dead."

~

Your body jolted, eyes flying wide open, gasping as you clutched the icy sheets.

Click. Click. Click.

You flinched at the light tapping at the window, still living in the chill of that memory when you noticed the steamy warmth pressed along your back...

It was still dark. Not yet dawn, though the sky hinted at a paleness.

Sanemi's hand lay flat over your stomach, fingers splayed like he needed physical proof that you hadn't vanished overnight. His arm curled around your waist, anchoring you in place, your chest rising and falling in tandem with his. You didn't move.

Being enveloped in him like this made it hard to remember why you were here in the first place.

He awakened behind you.

A low grunt escaped him, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly, just enough to pull you back flush against him.

When you tilted your head toward the window, eyes barely open, he moved too—drowsy orbs following yours, then returning to your face.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was quiet but thick, full of the things you'd both left unsaid last night. His hand lingered at your waist, fingers curling like he was torn between holding on and exploring elsewhere.

His eyes searched yours, and you could almost feel a question hovering there.

Instead, he exhaled slowly and weaved his fingers into your tangled locks. His hair was disheveled as well, spiking up like a wild dandelion. You leaned ever so slightly into his touch.

He closed the distance, kissing you leisurely, like he had all the time in the world.

Click. Click. Click.

The sound came again, faint yet persistent.

You shifted, forcing yourself to break the kiss, "There's... a tapping," you murmured, voice still low from sleep.

His brows drew together, a faint crease showing. He didn't answer right away, but his arm loosened, releasing you from the cocoon of his warmth. He pushed himself upright, the silk sheet sliding from his hips as he moved, revealing his nude form.

You tried not to stare. You failed.

Sanemi padded toward the window, unbothered by his own nakedness. He shoved the window open with one rough hand, standing framed in the night; scarred, solid, and unapologetically masculine. A blush formed along your collarbone.

A rush of cool air swept in with Yoruba, claws curling along the windowsill before he dipped his head in greeting.

Sanemi blinked at the owl, then muttered, "Your damn bird has the worst timing."

Still lying back against the pillows, you tucked the sheet around yourself and gave a small, amused hum. His shameless gaze dragged over your curves, letting you know he hadn't had nearly enough of you.

But before he could act on that thought, the sheets suddenly whispered under a new weight.

Yoruha landed on the foot of the bed. His eyes were glinting in the low light, black and urgent, and he stretched out his right leg with uncharacteristic insistence.

Sanemi flinched slightly at the interruption, blinking as though yanked from a trance. He leaned forward, brows furrowing as he reached for the scroll tied to the owl's leg.

His fingers worked quickly to untie the parchment. His eyes scanned the note once, then again.

"What the hell..."all the color had drained from his face.

You sat up straighter immediately, "What is it?"

Sanemi was already tugging on his discarded haori, muscles tense.

"Get dressed," he ordered, voice clipped, "We need to meet Uzui at the Kyogoku House. That yellow haired kid has gone missing."

~

Walking through Yoshiwara's streets reminded you of festival week in Magome, only much livelier. Vendors touted more persistently, the smell of tobacco and perfumes burned in the air, and the people moved like flowing water, eyes catching and holding potential suitors that passed.

Every face and smile blurred together under the glow of lanterns. At this rate, it would be a time before you reached the Kyogoku House.

You sharply sighed, arm in arm with Sanemi, though he hardly noticed. He was far too distracted with scanning the streets on the way.

Distracted.

Maybe if you hadn't been so distracted, Zenitsu wouldn't have gone missing. Maybe Sanemi coming along made you incompetent. A fool, your father might say. Your brother would agree.

And maybe they were right.

Your father never hesitated to remind you of the difference between the two of you. Your brother was born lucky, and you were just lucky to be born.

That idea had carved itself into you, each word sharpened by the way he looked at your brother, as if he were everything you could never be. The dutiful heir. The perfect shinobi. The one who never faltered, never disobeyed, never strayed from the path laid before him.

And then there was you. Always slipping, always yearning for a connection.

It went without saying that any sign of romantic feelings you may have for a man were to be relinquished right where it took root. You did not grow up like normal girls, so you had no right to be like normal girls, he would say. You are a weapon forged to have no weaknesses. If you are weak, it is because you are not a disciplined shinobi. And without discipline, you are nothing.

The weight of his words pressed harder here, in Yoshiwara of all places, a place where connection was an illusion, where affection could be bought and devotion sold. Maybe Uzui had been right. Maybe you had let yourself slip, lulled by the dream this district spun like silken threads.

Maybe once this mission ended, things should to go back to normal. Back to who you were before you let yourself stray.

And yet, the mere idea of going back to reality—of not pretending to be his—felt like a slow, quiet heartbreak. But neither of you would dare admit that.

That's when Sanemi stopped.

You nearly stumbled, still holding his arm, "Sanemi? What—?"

But his attention was fixed.

A small booth stood tucked between two tea shops, delicate kanzashi on display, catching the light like snowflakes. One in particular drew his eye; a dark, midnight hued pin with a single carved white camellia flower at its tip, resilient, despite being surrounded by silver wind-swept etchings. Dangling chains end in teardrop crystals that flicker like raindrops.

.

It was beautiful.

And something in his chest clenched at the thought of you wearing it.

Before you could ask again, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out his coin pouch, dropping a handful of yen into the vendor's hands. The old merchant bowed, wrapping the pin with care before handing it over.

You blinked in confusion as Sanemi turned toward you, something unreadable in his expression. He didn't say a word. Just stepped in close and gently slid the pin into your hair, tucking it into place with surprising delicacy.

Your breath caught.

Heat rose in your cheeks, and you couldn't help it. You dropped your gaze, praying he didn't notice the way your cheeks lit up.

Sanemi's face stayed blank in the way it always was when he did something kind and pretended it didn't mean anything.

You turned to the mirror hung on the stall post, catching your reflection. You glanced at it, intending only to see how the Kanzashi sat against your hair—

And froze.

In the glass, framed just over your shoulder, a pair of eyes stare back at you from a balcony.

Unblinking. Too wide. Pupils carved like slits.

Your breath caught. You spun, hand already nearing your blade—but there was nothing. Only the crowded terrace and the hum of voices.

Sanemi halted beside you, his gaze snapping to where yours had been, a flicker of sharp understanding in his eyes.

Slowly, you exhaled and met his look again, "Let’s keep moving before we’re too late."

Chapter Text

"Slow down dammit, you're always running ahead!"

Sanemi's voice chased after you, ragged between pants, though you didn't slow.

Your feet skidded to a halt only after a few more strides. Seconds later, Shinazugawa caught up, huffing either from exertion or frustration—you couldn't tell.

"what's the big deal?? Where are we anyway?" His gaze darted wildly around the alleyway until he finally noticed what you were staring at.

Above a shady doorway, a weather-worn wooden sign swung faintly in the evening breeze: KYOGOKU HOUSE.

Sanemi frowned, "oh, right. I knew that."

It was now your turn to scan the area, "Well, we're here...but I don't see—"

A scrape of dirt cut you off.

From the darkness of the corner, a figure emerged, grinning as though he'd been waiting all along, "there's my two favorite Pillars."

Both you and Sanemi leveled Uzui with the same blank stare.

Your voice was flat, "We can exchange pleasantries later. What's the plan?"

Uzui raised his hands as if taming a wild beast, "Hey, no one wants to find my wives more than I do. But first; why the hell are you dressed like that."

He jabbed a finger to your robes, to which you set a firm hand on your hip, "I needed a way out of the House without raising suspicion. Either way I have my uniform on underneath, so it's not an issue."

The sound Hashira shrugged,  "very well, then that leads me to my next point; I sent the Kamado boy and the boar headed brat to scout the streets and their assigned Houses for any signs of Zenitsu. Hopefully they've made some progress while we handle the more... convoluted side of things."

He withdrew a kunai from his belt, spinning it to a reverse grip with practiced ease, "Yugiri, you'll search the rooms for any trace of this demon. I'll interrogate the headmaster. Sanemi, make sure no one comes in or out of the House while we're inside. Are we clear?"

"Tch."

A sharp click of the tongue cut him off.

Uzui turned to the cross-armed Wind Hashira, one brow arched, "what now?"

Sanemi's glare could have cut glass,"You're seriously sticking me on lookout duty? What am I, a rookie?"

"No offense," Uzui replied smoothly, "but this is a covert operation. Wind isn't exactly known for its... subtlety."

Sanemi's hair flared like a thistle, voice rasping, "Sound is literally the opposite of quiet, you flashy bastard! Don't lecture me on subtlety!"

Uzui opened his mouth to retort, but you interjected after observing the quickly approaching evening sky, "quit bickering and get in position. We don't have time for this."

"Always the chipper one, aren't we Yugiri?" Uzui smirked.

"Now," You snapped, leaving no room for protest before trudging toward the House.

The two men exchanged one last withering glare before dropping their arms. Without another word, they turned away, their footsteps carrying them in opposite directions. Uzui with deliberate swagger, Sanemi with simmering irritation.

~

There was only a faint shimmer of steel before the headmaster realized the cold press at his throat was a kunai.

"what happened to Hinatsuru and Zenko, give me the short version. And don't even think about asking questions," came a low, dark voice from behind.

The man stiffened where he knelt. His reply shook with fear, "Z-Zenko just disappeared. Hinatsaru fell ill..."

Uzui's eyes flicked past the door, landing on you. There was a subtle nod from him; that was your cue.

Luckily, keeping your disguise on allowed you to hide in plain sight here. You ascended a narrow flight of steps, slipping past a few housekeepers running chores without raising suspicion. Courtesans laughed somewhere beyond, and despite the music, you could not block out the muffled groans seeping through thin doors.

You swept the hallway with sharp eyes, noticing a shadowed corner at the far end. The sliding door stood slightly ajar, the space beyond void of light. An empty, cold room would be perfect cover for something that should not exist here.

One glance over your shoulder. The coast was clear. You slipped inside.

The air was stale, tinged faintly with iron. The tatami creaked underfoot as you crossed to the center, eyes sweeping walls and floor alike.

Nothing...

When suddenly, a sliver of light winked at you from the corner of the room, no thicker than a hair.

You inch closer and crouch down. A string.  It trailed toward the window, disappearing into the night beyond. You are careful not to touch it, though upon further examination you realize that it is not merely a simple thread. Your sharpened eyesight could read the strength and magic woven into that one singular string.

Straightening, you shed your layered robes, folding them neatly and setting them aside where they wouldn't be disturbed. The weight lifted, leaving only your uniform and the steel at your side.

You leapt out of the window and into the night in a singular motion, landing in the alley below without a sound. The shadows hid you with ease as you waited for a signal to emerge, when you noticed an abrupt fracture in the stillness. The hairs on your neck bristled as instinct took over.
You spun, kunai flashing up to meet a throat in the blink of an eye.

Strong hands caught your hips, and you recognized him by his touch alone. Your breath escaped in a quiet rush.

The blade wavered, then lowered. "...Nemi."

His smirk was faint, but sharp as ever. "Thought you could slip past me?"

"How did you—?"

"Don't worry about it," His voice dipped, low and close.

The distance between you thinned, his nose brushing yours as though he might push closer...

"Alright, you two lovebirds," Uzui's voice sliced through the tension, amused as ever.

He leaned lazily against the corner, arms crossed, "Whose getting carried away now?"

Both your eyes snap open, Sanemi rolling his eyes as he pulled away, shoving his hands into his pockets. You turned, crossing your arms.

"Now that that's settled," the Sound Hashira began, looking elsewhere as thought the moment hadn't mattered at all, "Hinatsuru has fallen ill and went to the Kirimise for treatment. I'm going to make my way there now and look for signs of trouble on the way."

You gave a curt nod, fingers brushing your hilt before drawing the blade free in one smooth motion, "I searched the house," you reported evenly, "I found a room stripped bare except for one ominous thread trailing out the window. It reeks of a Blood Demon Art. Sanemi and I will follow it."

With one final look of understanding passed between the three of you, you each went your separate ways.

~

The ground split where Tanjiro's blade met with the sweep of a crimson obi, the fabric slashing through the air like a living serpent. Inosuke roared beside him, his twin blades carving arcs that rattled against the demon's endless coils.

"It's no use!" Inosuke growled to Tanjiro, dodging the fatal slashes of the fabric, "this worm's regenerating faster than I can blink!"

The demon's painted smile stretched unnaturally wide, "So noisy. You little pests don't belong here."

Tanjiro tightened his grip on his sword, hair curling from sweat and dirt. He still had no idea where Zenitsu or the others had vanished, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: if they didn't hold this demon here, no one else would stand a chance.

Elsewhere in Yoshiwara...

Roof tiles clicked faintly beneath your footsteps, each sound swallowed quickly by the night. Sanemi trailed close behind, relying on your keen scotopic vision as you guided him across the maze of rooftops.

Your stride lightened the moment the string ahead of you pulled taut. You slowed, dropping low to the tiles. Sanemi mirrored you without a word, both of you crouching as you crept toward the edge.

Peering over, you realized you were perched above the Ogimoto House. The thread glimmered in the lantern light, stretching along the wall before vanishing into the crevice of a cellar door.

You rose, pointing with your blade,
"Down there is where I can assure you we will find that demon's lair."

Sanemi didn't hesitate. He dropped to the ground with a solid thud, jamming the edge of his Nichirin into the latch. Wood splintered as the hatch flew open.

You leapt in after him, both of you landing in a readied stance.

Then the stench hit.

Your back stiffened at the presence of an overpoweringly sour smell. Slowly, your grip tightened as your eyes adjusted. Ribbons. Everywhere. Draped across the cellar walls, the floor, the ceiling. A suffocating web of silk.

And then, from the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of Yellow.

Zenitsu.

His sleeping image was imprinted in the fabric, weaved into its very threads .

"What the hell...?" Sanemi muttered behind you, his voice low and edged, gaze narrowing at the ribbons that pulsed like flesh.

Your heartbeat spiked, clammy fingers clenching around your hilt. A ribbon stirred, and in the next instant, it rose, a silken sash unfurling like a serpent, twisting until the fabric warped into a distorted face.

"Hashira?!" it shrieked, voice rattling the walls, "you shouldn't be here!"

The air cracked as Sanemi lunged, his expression twisted in both confusion and fury. His blade met the sash in a sharp, hissing slice.

You surged forward beside him, your strikes cutting clean, shadows trailing your form. Each slash tore ribbons apart, spraying dark blood into the dim cellar light.

But for every piece you severed, more seemed to writhe forward.

"Enough of this, I'm releasing them all," Sanemi growled, muscles tightening as he carved through the silk, "Wind Breathing, Ninth Form: Idaten Typhoon!"

He vaulted into the air, body twisting backward in a whip-like motion. Upside-down, he unleashed a torrent of circular gales. The blast spiraled outward, shredding the belts in its path.

The Obi shrieked and wrinkled in pain, its face contorting deeper in fury.

Bodies rained down like broken dolls, freed from their prison. Sanemi landed hard on his feet, though the impact came with a jolt. The veins in his forearm surged, flipping his hand over in bewilderment, only to see shadows curling in between his fingers. A sharp burn rattled through his chest, searing and unfamiliar.

You felt it too. A fire that ran through your very being. You recognized it all too well, as if Kazekage had initiated again right where it left off.

From across the cellar, wind kicked up from your feet, thickening the air you were breathing. Its warmth prickled at your fingertips, hand clenching and unclenching at your side, torn between dropping your blade or hurling yourself forward. Euphoria moved in where logic should be.

Your eyes locked with his. Wide. Confused. Arrested.

Sanemi's chest heaved, palm pressing against his throat as though to steady a burn that wasn't there. His other hand tightened around his katana, trembling.

The sensation froze you both in place, a heady current threading shadow and wind together. It was paralyzing, the very air between you threatening to ignite if either dared move.

The Obi surged, seizing its chance, ribbons snapping toward the still-stunned victims. But before its fabric could swallow them whole, a kunai whistled through the air. The blade cut clean through, and the fabric collapsed in a heap to the ground.

"Come on, Suma!" A blonde woman barked, yanking her companion by the wrist as the chamber shook with thrashing belts, "This is no time to be acting like a wimp!"

"I know, I know! but I'm not a fighter!" Suma squealed, barely dodging a strike, "Don't expect much from me, Makio!"

The belts snapped after them, fanged ribbons filling every corner of the room. Makio slashed with grim determination, holding her ground, "Hang in there guys, we'll hold it off!" She asserted.

Neither of you were able to respond, until finally, your foot slid back, attempting to shift in a fight stance, and something released.

Your bodies loosened, and you drew a long inhale. Then another. And suddenly, you weren't breathing alone, but together.
You and Sanemi were now drawing breaths from the same lungs, you realized.

You could feel him all around you, wind swirling and kissing at your cheeks. Sanemi's face was flushed as shadows ran up and down his exposed skin.

You and Sanemi are back to back again, your blades carving offense and defense as if you had rehearsed this very dance for centuries.

You pivot left with a sharp motion, nichirin jabbing upwards, in that same breath, Sanemi pivoted right, sending his blade downwards on another limb.

"Are you Uzui's wives?!" you called out, your voice cutting between strikes.

"Yes—!" Suma cried, almost snagged by a belt as she ducked, "Can you take us to him?"

"Damn right we will," Sanemi snarled, severing another length of silk, "Right after we gut this tapeworm!"

Moments later,  something bubbled beneath your skin, itching to release.

"This isn't the main body," you said coolly, your blade flashing, "we can end it here, it's ready! I can feel it."

But it almost felt too late. More belts and fabric seemed to spawn with each one that was cut down, swiftly closing in on your fighting forms. That was when a thunderclap suddenly shattered the chamber. For a breath, silence reigned.

Zenitsu appeared in a crouch, blade drawn, lightning still echoing through the air as the sashes drifted down in sectioned pieces. Suma and Makio gaped at the sleeping boy, too stunned to speak.

The worm froze—half from pain, half from shock, eyes darting around the chamber searching for something, "I heard two thunderclaps..." it said under its breath, "one came from that boy, and the other..." 

Suma and Makio followed its gaze, only then realizing you and Sanemi had vanished.

The chamber darkened.

Shadows roared forward with razor sharp claws. Powerful gales propelled them forward with a force that bent the walls, causing it to nearly implode on itself.

Both forces flickered in and out of each other—unstable, feral, on the verge of becoming whole. And within that instant, you and Sanemi appeared above the demon, blades arching in mirrored slashes, intersecting in the center like an X. Shadows claw out where you sliced, and winds rip forward from Sanemi's blade, overlapping.

It gasped, "Could it be? But that technique... no—it's impossible!"

For a heartbeat, the shadows and the wind remembered something older than themselves, before fracturing back into two separate wills. The gale fell flat, the shadows dispersed.

You both exchange a sharp glance, almost accusatory before returning to the fight.

But it was enough.

The belt shredded into a thousand silken fibers, drifting through the air like snow.

You landed side by side, watching in silence as the strands fell around you, glittering in the dim light like the remnants of a dream...

Chapter Text

I know you guys are looking forward to a new chapter and don't worry it's coming! I just made some fun manga covers for this story featuring you and Sanemi so I thought I'd share! I did the most common skin + hair combinations, please be kind.

Some of you may be wondering, "author, if the reader comes from a line of legacy slayers, wouldn't she be fully Japanese?" Ah, but then it wouldn't be an xreader if that were completely true. I try to leave room in y/n's background so it's up to the reader what her ethnicity is, but personally I like to imagine that the absent mother is the same ethnicity as y/n's.

But then you might ask "but author! Japan was very closed off to outsiders, it's very unlikely that reader would happen to have a mother of a different ethnicity." And to that I say, but it's not impossible. And that gives your father all the more reason to have exiled your mother anyway! In the case you DO happen to be fully Japanese, that's awesome and it still wouldn't affect the story!

TLDR; in my version of this story, you are half Japanese, and half whatever your ethnicity is/identify as. Or just fully Japanese!

But you have every right to say "to hell with the author, I want to fully be my own person in this story!"

And with that, I'll say, "that's completely understandable! Your identity is never explicitly stated for that purpose, but these drawings are illustrated under my interpretation of the reader."

There's also the option of completely ignoring this part altogether and continuing with the story as normal ☺️. I've been rambling too much now, but one last thing;

If you want a specific character done or a picture tailored to you, I can do that too! DM me on my Instagram for commissions and details :) otherwise, please show some support, interactions, or kind words. This took a lot of dedication, heart, and nearly 30 hours to complete, so I'm gonna rest now lol and if you made it this far, thanks for indulging me! anyway, I'm done talking, enjoy!

Help me make more art like this by following me on IG: Lara23.p

Chapter Text

Tanjiro fell from the rooftop, fingers clawing at empty air as he plummeted to the ground below.

I'm sorry everyone. I failed...

The thought never made it to his lips. His tears streamed upward, caught by the rushing wind, rippling like a fleeting prayer...

When the world faded to black.

~

The unsightly demon hunched over the boy's unconscious body, nails scratching against his own mottled skin as flakes rained down. His grin widened, sickles glinting with lethal intent.

When suddenly—

A shift in the battlefields energy occurred. He detected overwhelming power at his back; a pressure, crushing and undeniable, sweeping through the air behind him.

The gale struck like a clawed beast, tearing over his body. Gyutaro staggered back in disbelief, blood spraying as his legs vanished beneath him. He blinked rapidly, vision swimming, his ears ringing as pain bloomed in every nerve when he realized.

"What the...?" he rasped, staring at the stumps where his legs had been. His hand clamped desperately over the gash in his eye, hot blood pouring between his fingers, "Why... can't I regenerate?" He hissed through gritted teeth.

A shadow loomed over Gyutaro's figure as he held a hand over his eye, which bled profusely. He frowned when he looked up, only to meet a tall white figure.

"My...that was quite the hit, you must be a Hashira," he careened, tensing his hand around his eye and scowled, " how annoying..."

These damn slayers just won't stop showing up. Could it really have just been this one slayer that took him down like this? Not even that sound Hashira was able to land a hit on him like that... even if that blow that was gone quicker than he could snap his fingers.

The thought barely formed when a shadow detached itself from the chaos.
In an instant, Sanemi had Gyutaro on the ground, arm locked behind his back.

He's fast, Gyutaro thought, but it wont be enough, I should be able to regenerate any—

The reflection of his widened eyes staring back at him in a black-indigo blade cut off his train of thinking.

What? he thought as the steel inched closer, But how? I barely saw her coming—I couldn't even feel her presence! Her ability to hide herself is...it's inhuman...

your sword drove down toward Gyutaro's neck. Sanemi's weight bore against him, pinning the writhing demon in place.

That was when belts had sprung out after you from beyond the rooftops, but Zenitsu's sleeping form took to the air, hand moving to the hilt of his sword, "Thunder Breathing, First Form: Thunderclap and Flash...Godlike Speed!"

The execution should have been over in that moment.

But the edge of your blade screeched against hardened blood. A violent pulse of crimson energy erupted from his wounds. The demon had repelled your blade with his blood demon art, limbs fully recovered.

The effects of the Kazekage had worn off.

"Shit...!" You curse, cutting through another strike as your gaze snapped to Uzui's collapsed figure, "do you see that?"

Sanemi's teeth clenched, eyes narrowing as he held his blade steady against Gyutaro.

He gave a curt nod, voice rough but steady, "Yeah, I do. So let's get this over with."

Another tremor drew your attention; a demoness looming over Zenitsu who struggled beneath a heap of shattered timber. Your eyes locked with her striking ones.

Upper Moon Six.

So these two are the same rank. They must be linked somehow...

Think Yugiri, think.

How can you finish this once and for all?

A guttural cry split the chaos. Inosuke's wild boar call. He barreled into Daki, knocking her away from Zenitsu, while Tanjiro pulled the boy from the rubble.

"Don't worry, shadow lady!" the boar head bellowed, another slash sending the demoness flying, "We'll chop this one's head off!"

Zenitsu staggered upright, and Tanjiro shouted over his shoulder, urgency burning in his eyes, "we have to chop their heads off at the same time! They're linked together!"

They're alive.

A breath of relief, and your grip tightened on your nichirin. So that's the key. You caught Sanemi's gaze. A silent pact passed between you.

"Get behind me," he muttered, blade raised high, "I'll keep him busy."

You gave a curt nod, retreating like a predator or the night, your eyes locked on Gyutaro's every twitch.

"What's this?" Flakes of skin fell of from the demon's face as he scratched at his cheek, tilting his head unnaturally, Sanemi grimaced.

"Oh, I get it now..." He scraped a claw down his cheek, tearing flesh with a sickening rip, "You're pretty attractive just like that one I was fighting earlier, you two must get all the ladies. No doubt a man like yourself has earned him a pretty lady like that. You're quite strong too..."

Sanemi bared his teeth, the corner of his lip slightly twitching.

Gyutaro tilted his head more so that it leaned on his shoulder, "oh yeah, that's it, isn't it? You two are an item. Urgh, do you know how much that sickens me?? You sicken me..." The demon spread his arms like tattered wings, sickles tight in his grip.

"So I'll kill you first."

Sanemi braced himself for an attack.

Gyutaro unleashed a flurry of crimson arcs, each one screaming through the air like a whip. Sanemi moved with razor precision, slipping past each slash, eyes locked on their trajectory, studying how the wind carried them, how their momentum could be turned.. If he timed it just right, could he redirect the hits?

He didn't waste time to find out, "Wind Breathing, Third Form: Clear Storm Wind Tree!"

A whirlwind erupted around him, blades of air spiraling outward, shredding and scattering the demon's attack into harmless tatters of blood mist.

That was your cue, "Shadow Breathing, Third Form: Pitch Black!"

You surged forward, shadows spilling from your blade, drowning Gyutaro's vision in suffocating dark. His claws lashed blindly, but you were faster, slashes carving across his guard, forcing him back, denying him even a breath to recover.

In that fleeting gap, your gaze swept the battlefield. Inosuke was already airborne, jagged swords poised at Daki's neck. Zenitsu wasn't far behind him, katana surging with a blinding light. Tanjiro kneeled behind, his blade on fire, severing through her Obi.

This was your chance.

"Sanemi, now!"

Your voice echoed through the haze, but when your eyes found his, the battlefield dissolved. For the first time in your lives, there was peace, as though Earth itself had healed in that moment.

Time slowed.

Together, you inhaled, lungs drawing in the same rhythm, hearts beating in unison. Side by side, your stances shifted into perfect alignment.

Your arms extended, blades poised. Both nichirin flared to life; his wreathed in howling wind, yours veiled in curling shadow. The two forces intertwined, spiraling around you like dragons of yin and yang, a storm forged from opposite halves of the same soul.

You both struck.

Twin blades scissored clean through Gyutaro's neck. His eyes bulged, lips twisting into a final, broken grin before shock froze his features. Blood erupted in a geyser, hot spray fanning across your skin as his head tore free from his shoulders.

The severed skull spun once in the air, trailing a red arc like a comet, before crashing to the rubble with a wet thud.

His body collapsed, clawed arms twitching violently, muscles spasming as the last threads of his Blood Demon Art unraveled in the atmosphere.

Across the field, Daki's head flew free in the same instant, her shriek strangled mid-cry.

The linked siblings toppled together, lifeless

But—

The ground began to tremble. A low, bone-deep vibration crawled through the earth, rattling loose stones and broken wood.

Uzui's voice cut faintly through the haze. He was on his knees, bloodied and drained, gripping Tanjiro's shoulder. His lips moved around words that barely carried: "Run... it isn't over..."

Then the world detonated.

A deafening roar, like a volcano tearing itself open, consumed all sound. Tornadoes tore across the battlefield, spiraling from nothing, shredding the air like lightning given form. Shadows whipped violently through the storm, their shapes monstrous and clawed, writhing as though alive... working to cleanse the air of malice.

You couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The sight rooted you in place: terrifying, beautiful, irresistible. It was as though the world itself was unraveling in front of you, and you were caught in the eye of it all.

Sanemi's voice ripped through the trance, raw and desperate, calling your name. His hand seized your arm, dragging you back to reality just as the storm reached its peak. He threw himself over you, forcing your paralyzed body down, shielding you beneath the weight of his own.

The winds howled, shadows lashing around you both as if trying to swallow the battlefield whole.

~

"Are you certain? They defeated two Upper Moons. And the Kazekage... it has awakened?" Ubuyashiki's breath hitched, the words almost too heavy for his wasted lungs.

Yoruha gave a solemn hoot while Sorai bowed his head in confirmation.

Though deathly ill and unable to rise, the Master felt something bloom in his chest, a joy so fierce it momentarily made him forget the weight of his body. His clouded eyes gleamed with life.

"You have my gratitude, my children. Tengen... Sanemi... (y/n)... Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke, Nezuko..."

The feathered messengers shifted, wings rustling, when suddenly Ubuyashiki doubled over, racked by a violent fit of coughing. Amane was at his side instantly, her slender hand bracing him, keeping him from crumpling forward.

His teeth clenched as he forced the words through the spasms, blood flecking his lips, "One hundred years... it has taken one hundred years for something to change, and it has finally happened."

Amane lifted a handkerchief to his mouth, her touch steady, patient. He turned his bleary gaze toward her, voice breaking between coughs.

"Don't you see Amane? this must be an omen. The world is changing, and soon he will feel it. Muzan Kibutsuji...our generation will put an end to you without fail!"

The Master's frame shuddered with another wave of coughs. Amane called softly but urgently to their children, her composure unbroken though her eyes trembled, "Quickly. Bring the medicine."

~

Your vision was still hazy when you woke, your head lolling as though you were being cradled. Shapes bled into focus—the first was Tanjiro and Nezuko, kneeling at your side, both smiling warmly and waving. The second was the solid figure holding you, arms trembling but firm.

Your fingers instinctively wove into his hair.

"'Nemi..." your voice cracked.

Sanemi jerked back, lilac eyes blown wide and wet.

"(Y/n)..." he breathed, almost like the word itself was a prayer.

Then he closed the distance again, crushing his lips against yours in a desperate kiss, refusing to let the tears fall though they burned at the corners of his eyes. His body was bruised, bloodied...torn apart nearly as badly as yours.

Nezuko still smiled softly, while Tanjiro scratched the back of his neck, cheeks reddened, "I'm glad to see you're okay, Miss Yugiri!"

When Sanemi finally pulled back, you reached out and cupped Nezuko's cheek, your touch feather-light. Somehow, you knew you were only alive because of her, "Thank you... both of you."

Tanjiro beamed, then glanced at his sister, "Come on, Nezuko. Let's go find Mr. Uzui."

The siblings left you in Sanemi's arms, but he didn't look after them. His chest heaved, and for the first time you saw him teeter on the edge of breaking down completely.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered, a lone tear sliding down his scarred cheek.

You brushed it away with your thumb, shaking your head faintly, "I'm sorry... but I'm here now."

His grip on you tightened, "Then promise me you won't do that again. Don't freeze up like that!"

"I—I won't," you said quickly, "I'm sorry, it was just... for a moment, it felt like it had happened before. Even though I know it hasn't."

Sanemi let you go abruptly, his hands falling into his lap. He stared down at them, jaw tight.

"I don't get it," he muttered, "Why isn't it activating right? What the hell are we doing wrong? I thought—" He stopped himself, throat closing around the words.

You gave him a solemn look, searching his face, "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. Together."

Sanemi finally lifted his eyes to yours, but the frown remained etched into his features...

Because he was not convinced.

Chapter Text

Sanemi walked you backwards until you bumped against the wall, his lips crashing into yours like a wave. You were sure it made a harsh thud, and in that moment, you were grateful Aoi had provided you a private room on the opposite side of the estate.

Neither of you cared how bruised, bloody, or tired you were. In this time where life was uncertain, you wanted to live it to the fullest whenever you could.

After the battle, you'd carried the wounded with the Kakushi to the Butterfly Estate. But once inside, Sanemi found himself unable to keep off of you.

He pinned you along the wall, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, letting his calloused palms slide up your skirt, fingers hungry to feel your skin.

A slow burn nipped between your legs, yielding to his sinful touch. You toss your head back as his mouth traveled down your neck, leaving small nibbles behind each of his groans.

His growing length pressed achingly against you, and even through the thick fabric of his clothes, you could feel his arousal twitch at the contact, rigid in the tight confines of his briefs.

He slides his thumb over your panties, lingering over the dampness on the fabric, "already so wet for me" he purred.

Growing impatient, you push him back slightly to ease yourself down on your knees. He quickly shifted his hold to help you, carefully positioning you at just the right height. The prong of his belt jingled lightly as your eager fingers worked to undo it, your tongue salivating at the thought of tasting him.

He cupped your chin just before you could slide down his trousers, guiding your gaze upward. when you glanced up, you found him watching you with an intensity that stole your breath; made you a little shy, even.

His eyes were dark, half-lidded, and utterly focused on every move you made. For a moment, you felt a sliver of nervousness under his gaze, but you didn't let it deter you.

Boldly, you pressed your lips to his abdomen, planting kisses along Sanemi's vertical strip of white hair. The hard lines of his hips twitched as he sucked in a sharp breath. He pulled your locks slightly as he stared, lilac eyes brimming with desire.

His fingers tugged his waistband just as yours did, both of you pulling down in unison. He sprang free, thick and heavy, glistening in the nightly hue.

A bead of clear fluid secreted from his tip, to which you pressed your thumb over it, smearing over his smooth head. It coaxed out a low, breathy sound reverberating deep in his throat as he rocked his hips forward, his other hand cradling the back of your head, urging you closer.

Your eyes drank him in, absorbing every subtle twitch and shift in his breath. It was like you needed to be sure it was actually Sanemi in front of you and no one else.

He swore softly under his breath as you ran your tongue along his shaft, tracing each vein along the way, nearing the sensitive underside of his head, and savoring the sweet yet salty flavor of the tip.

"(Y/n)," he growled, tugging at your hair with desperation.

Gods.

You loved hearing him say your name like that. It drove you—sparked burning kisses of searing desire throughout your body. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, shocked by how exposed he seemed, how vulnerable. You had never seen him like this, his tough exterior shed away, revealing something completely unguarded.

Finally, you welcomed him past the tight suction of your lips. His jaw went slack before he quickly bit down on his lower lip, his brows knitting together over his glazed, hooded eyes. He growled, his large hands tightening on your hair and and neck, pulling you closer while you took more of his length into your mouth.

You never broke eye contact as you did so.  Slowly, you worked him deeper, taking every inch that you could without gagging.  You paused to take in every detail— the deep flush of his cheeks, the sweat on his forehead, the way his scarred chest heaved unevenly. Sanemi twitched uncontrollably as he filled your mouth. Your lips stretched around him, eyes watering as you swallowed more, slowly, deliberately.

Your heart was practically beating outside your chest now, your mind fogging with desire as you closed your eyes and savored him, nodding along his length, taking as much as you could without triggering a gag.

Sanemi's fingers tightened in your hair, gathering it into a ponytail, his grip firm but careful as he urged you to quicken your pace, "fuck... just like that!"

The raw pleasure in his voice sent a shiver that perked your nipples tight. It thrilled you to know you could unravel him like this. A heady flood of power washed through you, driving you to let your hands roam lustfully, gliding up his hip, tracing the sharp lines of his pelvis and the taut muscle of his abdomen.

You were were drooling with a primal need that dripped from the corners of your lips. Every time Sanemi moaned your name or cursed under his breath, it sent a dark shiver through you.

"Baby...!" He gasped, his hand tightening in your hair.

You knew he was about to climax, but you didn't stop. You took him as deep as you could manage, fighting your gag reflex. Suddenly, he thrusted all the way into your throat, neck aching from the pressure. Hot ropes of cum shot out as his girth pulsed hard between your lips.

You watched him come undone, watched his composure dissipate as he struggled to keep his eyes on you. The intimacy of that moment burned into each of your souls, leaving you breathless, overwhelmed by pure yearning. You hummed, heart thudding violently as you swallowed every hot, thick clump of release.

You studied how his body sparkled with sweat, muscles finally easing as if a great burden had been lifted. His breath came in shaky, uneven bursts while he slid himself out of your mouth.

When you rose to your feet, his eyes were still glazed with a lingering pleasure that left his mind hazy. But he didn't hesitate when you kissed him, he held you flush to him like he was afraid to let you go, deepening the kiss.

Just like that, he snapped out of his delirium when you pulled away, his gaze sharpening as he grabbed you and spun you around and pinning you against the wall once more.

"c'mere, damn it..." he muttered, voice thick with desire.

You were startled by how quickly Sanemi's energy returned after what had seemed like an earth-shattering orgasm. You knew he had impressive stamina, but this... this was something else. You felt the newfound urgency in his kiss, his hand grabbing your hair, the weight of his body pressing into you with a heat that sunk deep into your bones.

Your breaths intertwined and he broke the kiss, fingers moving to find the hem of your underwear to drag it down.

His eyes followed yours, your lowered lashes giving way to a bashfulness he'd never seen from you before as you watched him lower your lingerie.

Then, you felt it. A sting ripping up your entrance as his head parted your slick folds. His brows knitted together in a frown of pleasure as he slowly began to push deeper, his thickness stretching you apart, inch by inch.

"God damn it, you're tight...!" He griped, his voice strained.

You bit down on your lip, a small sound escaping you as your body fluttered around him, trying to accommodate the full, delicious size of him.

Pain and pleasure intertwined in wave after helpless wave as he sunk himself down to the hilt, filling you completely. The sensation of his hips flush against you, his body pressed firmly to yours, throbbing tightly inside you, drew out a shared moan from each of you. Your breaths mingled before he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a deep, consuming kiss.

He began to move.

Fire coursed through you in that moment. You kissed him passionately, moaning together as one, feeling his hands gripping your hip and fisting into the back of your hair. Your hands found their place against the wall, nails dragging down the wood as your arched your back.

He plunged into you more desperately now, his thrusts becoming long and deep, filling you indulgently. It felt incredible—he felt incredible—fucking you like that, burying himself so deep that each roll of his hips pushed yours upwards against the wall.

He looked at you like he was holding the entire world in his hands. You were stunned that he could be so loving, so controlled.

A hum of delight escaped you as you pressed a lazy kiss into the scar over his flushed cheek. Your body trembled against the wall as he harshly captured your lips once more. Sanemi's drive seemed to reach a high, his skin slick under your fingers as you clung to his thighs now. A raw, muffled cry tore from your throat as he thrusted deep, his mouth swallowing it with a growl.

The wet, rhythmic sounds of skin slapping skin filled your ears as his forearms slid around your waist, pressing your body impossibly closer. Each powerful plunge made you burn, your pleasure spilling over like a dam breaking loose, then; the thread inside of you snapping.

"Sanemi—!" You were dousing him with your arousal, rocking your hips along his length, mind consumed by pleasure, "gods you feel so good!" Your eyes fell shut, colors bursting behind your eyelids like fireworks, your entire body shuddering.

He growled by your ear, his voice rough and raw, barely able to contain himself any longer, "You look so fucking good cumming on me... nh! Fuck. I'm going to fill you up!"

It was as if all the vulgar words he'd held back came bursting out of him as he neared his peak. His hips plowed into you violently all of a sudden, his breath turning more ragged than before.

You felt him convulse behind you, the weight of his body rocking against yours in powerful pulses as he came, his head kissing your cervix, filling you with delicious heat. He slowly collapsed over you, his chest rising and falling with a deep, satisfied sigh as he melted against you.

"Sorry," he panted, his words a jumbled, nearly incoherent string between breaths, "I don't usually come this quick. It's just... I was celibate for so long. Don't hold it against me."

Stupid Sanemi. Always so damn prideful, even now.

You snickered, cupping his face, "don't worry, I won't."

He eased out of you carefully, breath still uneven. The sudden emptiness made you clench around nothing, your body hissing its protest.

For a beat, the room was thick with silence. Just the sound of your synchronized breathing and the faint patter of rain against the shutters.

Then Sanemi cleared his throat, eyes flicking away before they could linger too long on the mess between you.

"C'mon," he breathed softly, "Let's get cleaned up."

~

You emerged from the washroom, half of your freshly washed hair combed loosely over your robed shoulders, a few damp strands framing your face.

You were focused, quiet, fingers threading the remains of the tangled locks.

The air shifted for Sanemi when you entered, glancing up just as he finished securing a towel over his waist.

You noticed his reflection from the mirror. He was just watching you by the mattress. His damp and spiky hair had a few more strands falling over his brow than usual, but you thought nothing of it. You continued working your hair into a bun, holding the Kanzashi he'd gifted you in place between your teeth.

And for a moment, Sanemi just stared. Even though he felt like he should look away, his eyes refused to move. He stood frozen in place, watching your reflection in the mirror.

You weren't doing anything particularly seductive. You weren't even looking his way. But something about you, standing there—calm and sure in your silence, somehow you transcended the mundaneness of it all, making his heart lurch wildly against his ribs with a rhythm that felt too wrong for a man who was supposed to be hardened against the world.

"You know," he muttered absentmindedly, "you're... the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

You froze.

His palms itched. His jaw clenched. He could feel every scar, every ugly line of himself, like they were all lit up under your quiet gaze. He thought for a quick moment he might have a heart attack.

Idiot. Why the hell did I just say that?

The words slipped out of his mouth carelessly. His heart was burning so hot now just being around you that he wished he was numb instead. The sensation was so sharp, so intense that it prevailed over any anger or fear he'd ever felt before.

Your eyes were kept wide, pulse hammering in your throat—but your hand stilled on the pin in your hair. You don't know why that single complement undid your composure in such a way.

Sanemi shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how unnaturally he was sitting.

"What?" he said, defensive now, "I'm sure you get told that all the time."

Still, you didn't speak. Just blinked once, then twice.

And then, to his surprise, you looked away. Not with disdain, not with irritation, but with something closer to that bashfullness he saw earlier. Your lips pressed together, eyes fixed now on the floor.

"No. You're the first, actually," you said softly.

The quietness of your voice struck him hard.

His stomach dropped. His shoulders tensed as if he'd been dealt a blow. His jaw worked uselessly, but no words came. His chest ached, not with anger, or frustration — with something far worse.

I'm the first? How the hell could I be the first to tell her that? Who the hell hasn't told her before? Who was supposed to? Her bastard of a father? That prick of a brother? Not even that sorry guy from her past?

No wonder she looks like she doesn't know what to do with herself right now...

You should've been told every damn day. You should've been—

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach for you. His throat burned, dry and tight, begging to spill more he couldn't say. Sanemi's gaze dropped to your wrist, still half-clenched around the pin. The sight of the Kanzashi alone nearly undid him.

He swallowed hard, the ache in his chest swelling until it nearly strangled him. The words that left his mouth were quieter, stripped bare.

"I just needed you... to know."

the way you looked just then—cheeks reddening, lips trembling at the corners a bit... it almost made him believe he could keep saying things like that forever.

Almost.

Because for the second time in his life, Sanemi was terrified. Not of death, nor of demons; but of you. Of what it meant to want someone this completely, this wholly, as though he wanted his soul and flesh to become one with you.

Was this... normal?

No.

No way in hell.

This was terrifying. Delusional, even.

To make him feel like he was glowing when he was around you. To spark an eternal fire within him that he was sure would still burn long after his body left this world.

...And damn it if he didn't realize he was a fool in love at that very instant.

It mortified him. Because Sanemi Shinazugawa knew one truth better than anyone: anything he loved was something the world could take away.

So he stayed silent. He let the word live and die inside his chest, buried beneath the roar of the raindrops outside, where you would never hear it.

When you returned to his side, you kneeled down on the futon with him.

"Nemi... thank you," a tiny curve ghosted your lips.

You were about to return the compliment, but stopped when you noticed the way his eyes avoided yours as though he was hiding something painful.

Gently, you reached out, your fingers brushing over the scar carved into his cheek. He flinched almost imperceptibly, not from pain but from the intimacy of your touch. You parted your lips, ready to ask, but his hand shot up to catch your wrist.

For a moment, his grip was firm, almost desperate. Then it softened, and he drew your palm toward his lips. His eyes slipped shut as he pressed a lingering kiss to you that warmed your skin.

When he spoke, his voice was hushed,
"I know you're tired, princess. Let's get to bed."